Memoir
by Kavi Leighanna
Summary: Some things never changed... unless he made them change. Crossover casefic with H/P, Caskett and underlying other couples. Co-authored with SignedSealedWritten.
1. Prologue: Reunion

_So, after something like 4 months of e-mails back and forth, SignedSealedWritten and I have finally gotten around to posting this baby! Well, this is kind of more of a teaser, but you're getting the prologue anyway! We both promise to be as quick as we can in updating but there are no guarantees. Life can be a pain in the rear end sometimes, but we'll do our best!_

**Memoir**

**Prologue: Reunion**

The air smelled of memories.

Memories jarred into remembrance by the sight of familiar faces, aged by time and fogged by years but not quite forgotten. Minds swarmed with sudden flashes of skipping classes, of teachers, of lectures and presentations. The air was sodden with memories of former best friends, past alliances, dissipated fights and first loves.

He saw all of it and felt none of it.

He saw differently – he viewed things through eyes tinted dark from too many years of harbored perceived injustice. Memories were like the sharp blade of a knife pressing against his skin. Nothing was fogged or faded, but instead crystal clear – a movie playing out before his eyes.

The memories were different, not pretty and nicely shaped like a teenage romance novel. They were dark, with random, erratic bits of light shining through. Jeers, tests, the last picked on the team – a first crush found and a first love lost.

He was the boy with the coke bottle glasses and she had been the girl with the light in her eyes. He was the boy who got the grades and _he _had been the one who got the girl. He was the boy who stared in jealousy, and watched _him_ get the girl. He was the boy who watched _him_ succeed, while _he _stayed behind and struggled to keep up.

He was never the boy who won. He was always behind, always watching, waiting. He was still waiting. Whatever it was he waited for never came. It hurt. It hurt more and more every single day, something giant and missing in the center of his chest.

He raised his eyes to the groups of people before him. He'd tried to make peace with it long ago. He'd failed to make peace long ago, and he'd tried and he'd tried to keep going. They were here, all of them – The Beauty, The Winner, The Jock, The Success, The Giver. Why was he here? He wasn't sure, not really – or if he did, he didn't want to admit why, surely not to himself. The idea that one of them would come up to him, tell him … tell him how wrong they'd been, how much of a mistake ignoring him, torturing him, had been – the idea was terrifying and beautiful all at once, like a volcano erupting.

The notion of _acceptance_ was nearly too foreign to contemplate. He'd never had it. He didn't know what it felt like, smelled like, _tasted_ like …

The Beauty was looking at him. He thought she looked exactly as she had back then – the same smile and dimples and the voice and long hair …

She was walking towards him!

Her hair swung when she walked, and her smile grew. There was light in her eyes. His mouth was too dry. Her eyes were so blue. His heart beat too fast. There were dimples in her cheeks. The world was spinning all around him …

He wanted to speak, but his lips stuck together. He tried to speak, and his eyes drifted beyond her, to the group she'd stood with – her Friends, her three friends. She was too good for him, they'd said! Well, look now! he thought. She was headed towards him.

"Am-" His words stopped. His world stopped.

She'd walked past him.

She'd walked right past him.

Right towards The Success, standing behind him.

Everything spun. They stood too close. They talked about The Success' child. This wasn't right – they should be speaking to him! This wasn't how it had played out for him in his mind. This shouldn't be happening.

But The Beauty talked to The Success.

The Giver spoke to The Friends.

The Winner hung with The Jock.

And he… _he_, The Loser, he spoke with nobody.

Some things never changed.

Not unless he _made_ them change.

* * *

_So tell us what you think of this set up by leaving a review please!_


	2. NYPD meet FBI

**Memoir**

**Chapter 1: NYPD Meet FBI**

Jennifer Jareau walked purposefully through the halls of the FBI offices in Quantico VA. She was on a mission towards the BAU bullpen and conference room, files under her arm. They had a case and JJ had already called Will and Henry to say she wasn't going to be home for a while. This one was absolutely sadistic. It was violent almost more so than anything she'd seen before. As a long-time veteran of the BAU, that was certainly saying something. She really hadn't been able to look at the pictures for more than a moment as she'd perused the file.

The team was already in the conference room as she climbed the stairs. The room was solemn, quiet, already apparently aware of the kind of case JJ was about to place in front of them. She didn't waste time, just split the files in half and allowed the team to pass the files around.

"Amanda Salinas, 32, was found dead in her apartment two weeks ago," she began, putting the woman's living picture up on the board. "Mervin Casey, also 32, was found a week later in his apartment. According to my phone call today, NYPD found a third one this morning." She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the pictures she was about to display.

"Why is this our case?" SSA Derek Morgan inquired, flipping absently through the pages.

JJ arched an eyebrow. She deliberately hadn't included any crime scene photos in the files, mostly because they were really too gruesome to be floating about. She pressed a few buttons and heard a gasp.

"Oh my God," SSA Emily Prentiss exclaimed.

JJ's smile was grim. To be able to get that kind of reaction out of Emily was a feat in itself. "ME says the slice is from just above the belly button to the collarbone."

"Without nicking an organ," Dr. Spencer Reid murmured. "The ME says it was one cut, smooth, careful."

"The knife must be ridiculously sharp," SSA David Rossi pointed out. "Cutting through seven layers and all..."

"What about the writing," Aaron Hotcher inquired, waving at the pictures even as his eyes stayed fixed on his file.

"The Beauty and The Winner," Reid murmured. "Did the NYPD tell you if they found one on today's victim?"

"No," JJ replied.

"The timeline scares me," Emily said, apparently having gotten over her initial disgust at the crime scene photos. As JJ met her friend's face, she recognized the mask the raven-haired woman had fixed firmly in place. "Two bodies in two weeks and a third one today? He's not wasting time." She looked over to the unit chief.

"No," Hotch agreed. "So let's not waste time either. Jet in half an hour."

The team moved swiftly and efficiently, closing up files and heading for go-bags. They were headed to New York.

* * *

"Dad!"

"Hey Pumpkin," Richard Castle greeted his daughter, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Years ago, he didn't have the slightest problem doing publicity tours for his books, but since Alexis had been born, he'd started to dread the travel.

He'd returned late the previous night from a three week jaunt across the continental US. The second Nikki Heat was flying off the shelves and everyone and their cousin seemed to want to talk to him about his work – and his relationship – with the woman behind the character. It had been a literal whirlwind. He was rarely on one place for more than two days, sometimes less than six hours. He was exhausted and he'd missed his family terribly. He put on a devil-may-care attitude, but he was a real family man at heart.

He squeezed his little girl tight before releasing her and heading back to the stove. "I've got omelettes for breakfast with all the fixings."

Alexis grinned. "I missed you too, Dad, but you don't have to spoil me with breakfast."

"I have missed three weeks of breakfast," he told her haughtily. "The least I can do is try and make it up to you when I get back."

Alexis looked at him in exasperation. "You have to do the publicity, Dad."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," he responded with a grin. "Now, what would you like in your omelette?"

"Ah, the prodigal son returns!"

Alexis and Rick exchanged a look as Rick said, "Hello Mother. I'm glad to see you haven't destroyed my loft."

"Alexis was here," Martha defended.

"That's never stopped you before, Grams," Alexis pointed out with a wry grin.

Rick chuckled before pouring the first omelette onto a plate. This was what he'd missed terribly. He couldn't get this play-by-play on the phone. As if cued, his cell started to sing and he all but jumped for it. He'd also missed the NYPD. He couldn't help grinning as he picked up the phone.

"Why, Detective, how nice of you to call me to welcome me home."

Beckett didn't even comment, merely said, "We've got a body."

He had two seconds to find paper to jot down the address before she hung up. He looked at the phone in shock. She sounded absolutely terrible and he was immediately on edge. He didn't like it when his favourite detective was strained.

"What is it, Dad?" Alexis asked, still pouring coffee.

"There's a body," Rick replied, forcefully yanking himself out of his concern to put on a happy face for his daughter. It wouldn't do well to have just returned home only to have her worrying about him.

Alexis raised an eyebrow and Rick knew she thought there was something else. Still he put on a smile as he kissed the top of her head after turning off the burner and made his way to the door.

"Mother, you're going to have to find your own breakfast," he said, sliding his coat on.

He had a detective to see about a crime scene.

* * *

"Detective Beckett?"

Kate Beckett, NYPD detective, looked up from the bloody pool on the ground to see a dark-haired woman approaching. The business suit was tailored to fit her, a charcoal grey that Kate envied. Her face was grim, and the official tone of voice clued her into who she was most likely dealing with.

"FBI?" she asked.

The woman's smile was there, but grim. "SSA Emily Prentiss, this is Dr Reid."

Kate nodded at the gawky looking man who stopped beside her, a brown leather bag slung over his shoulder. She refrained from making a comment on his age, knowing better than anyone that age could be deceiving. After all, she knew the Castles.

Speaking of.

"Good morning, detective," Richard Castle's cheery voice accompanied his arrogant swagger. Kate would never admit how attractive that swagger was, not even under pain of death. Nor would she admit to the thrill of comfort and relief that went through her at his presence.

"Castle. Meet Agents Prentiss and Reid. FBI."

Castle arched an eyebrow at her, then turned, his grin turning absolutely lecherous as he took in the dark-haired agent. "You're too beautiful to be FBI."

"Cut the crap, Castle," Kate snapped, not in the mood for his games. She was standing at a crime scene, the third one in a month, at a loss for leads. It was the only reason the FBI was standing there too.

The call had come three weeks ago, the same day Castle had left on a book tour for his second Nikki Heat novel. Kate had been happy, in a sense, that Castle hadn't been around when they'd found the first body. Nor the second. But Kate had, and she couldn't get it out of her head. Each victim had been gutted, sliced open from belly button to collarbone. Kate could vividly remember walking into that first scene, Lanie Parish meeting her at the front door, warning her that it wasn't going to be pretty. Still, nothing had prepared her for what she saw.

When they had exhausted their leads after the second body, and with the likelihood of more bodies turning up in a case as disgusting as theirs, they'd been at the edge of their ropes. That was when an officer had told Captain Montgomery a story from one of his cop buddies, a guy who had worked with a team of FBI agents out of Quantico. As a general rule, cops and feds stepped on each other's toes, so Montgomery hadn't been all that keen on inviting the feds into the investigation, but the officer had been firm in his stance that the FBI wasn't there to take the glory. It wasn't about fame, fortune, or stepping on toes, it was about the collar and catching the guy to stop him from killing again.

So the Captain had decided to call in for extra resources and the FBI had agreed to lend a hand.

Emily Prentiss arched an eyebrow at the man in front of her, still grinning at her as if he had already stripped her down to nothing but skin. She was used to lecherous cops, men who thought she was only good on her back, but this went above and beyond the call of duty. She recognized the last name but couldn't put her finger on where she'd heard it from.

Yet there was something else, something in the way 'Castle' stepped closer to the detective, even as he eyed her up and down, something in the way he'd greeted her, that said it didn't matter if he thought her attractive, he only had eyes for the woman he stood just slightly behind. Which was an indication in itself. She was in charge here and Emily found it almost intriguing to see that a man so obviously sexually dominant deferred to her. In her line of work, it was usually the males that were dominant.

The woman took a deep breath. "Our third one in a month," she said, and Emily got the feeling that she wasn't telling her or Reid. She was telling Castle. "Nelson Hurley."

"Whoa," Castle spoke up. "Third one?"

The body was already gone, so there was no way for Castle to know anything about what they were dealing with. "New there, Sparky?" she quipped, an eyebrow arching. Better to let him know now that she wasn't playing games.

But the detective stepped in almost immediately. "He's been gone three weeks," she offered. "This is his first time seeing this case."

Emily watched Castle's brow wrinkle in confusion and almost hurt as he looked at the woman in front of him. "Beckett?"

"Detective," Emily interrupted. They could have their cozy bonding time later, "What can you tell us about what you know."

Emily listened with rapt attention as Detective Beckett went over the information they already knew. Still, Emily had always liked to hear the point of view of those that had experienced the case from it's start. Sometimes, they had insights that were incredibly helpful to the case.

"We've already ID'd the vic, as you already know," Detective Beckett said, rounding towards the end of the details. "Doctor Parish took the vic back to the morgue. She should have official findings in a few hours. There's writing on this one too. The Jock."

Now that the detective was finished, Emily allowed her eyes to dart to the woman's counterpart. He was watching the detective closely, gauging her. Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but just barely. Did he even know he was half way in love with her? She prayed that it wouldn't interfere with the case, though, by looking at him, she highly doubted it. From the looks of it, these feelings weren't new. They were too deep to be new.

"It doesn't make sense."

Emily snapped her mind back to the case at Reid's words. "What's up, Reid?"

"It's… The crime scenes are bloody, gruesome, even, but done in the quiet of someone's home, away from prying eyes. He wants attention, but he doesn't."

"Because why wouldn't you display the body publicly to get the most audience," Castle agreed, nodding. There was a glee in his eyes, but it was muted, Emily guessed because of Detective Beckett.

"Exactly!" Reid agreed with a small smile and Emil couldn't help her own twitch. She knew that look. Reid continued, "And this place doesn't fit the geographic profile. I'll alter it obviously, but it seems too far away from the other two crime scenes. Even if I adjust the profile assuming this crime scene that means we have a bigger hot zone."

Emily almost laughed at Castle's face before looking over at Detective Beckett's raised eyebrow.

"Does he always ramble like that?" the detective asked, and Emily knew without looking that Reid was blushing.

"Happens when he's thinking," Emily replied. She closed her eyes as Reid managed to trip over his own feet. Detective Beckett's lips twitched and Emily's did too. "Yeah, that's part of it too."

Detective Beckett's cell phone chirped and she checked it quickly. "Looks like we're set up at the precinct. Castle." The writer had wandered away, but he came almost scurrying back when Beckett called. "Let's go."

* * *

_Bother, all case, no fun. But there's fun to come!_

_So, between SSW and I, this took so much longer than we'd wanted. SO much longer. Both of us wanted to have this up a week ago, but Reid and Emily decided they didn't want to cooperate. Which is why you're getting it a week later than we'd both anticipated._

_Hopefully the next one'll be up sooner?_

_But reviewing in the meantime would be greatly appreciated by both of us!_


	3. First Steps

**Memoir**

**Chapter 2: First Steps**

That was the last time he went on a book tour.

At least, that's what Castle told himself as he followed Kate and the feebs into the 1-2. He was so far out of his element it was terrifying. There was so much he quite obviously didn't know and it all came to a head as Kate and the two agents stepped into one of the meeting rooms. The entire place had been transformed, photos and whiteboards covering every available surface.

He'd noticed the minute she'd snapped at him that there was something terribly wrong. She'd been more snappish than usual, cranky, and he'd seen the circles under her eyes. With how well he knew every feature of her face – it was difficult not to know every wrinkle, dimple or sweep of her skin with how much he watched her – he'd been able to spot how exhausted she was almost immediately. And it worried him. They'd had cases that haunted her before, but even with rings of exhaustion colouring her usually flawless skin, her eyes always held a spark of determination, the need to get her collar.

Not this time.

This time, her eyes were hollow, unseeing, haunted, and Castle didn't like it one bit. He needed the old Kate back, the real one, not this shell that he was seeing. What bothered him more was that he hadn't been there for her. He was her partner, or as good as her partner and he'd figured three weeks wasn't so bad. She couldn't get into any trouble in three weeks. He'd been so terribly wrong.

He met the eyes of Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan, both of them looking just as grim as the Captain.

"Castle, welcome back."

He merely nodded, eyes scanning the rest of those in attendance. He already knew the lovely Agent Prentiss and the eccentric Dr Reid and he found himself taking in each one of the others with a slow, practiced eye.

The alpha male, dark hair, slim build and eyes that were more dark, guarded and haunted than Kate's. The man had seen too much in his time, and if the eyes weren't enough, the crow's feet and grim lines around his mouth were a dead giveaway. Even so, he held himself tall, stoic, as if showing emotion was too much for him to bear. The blond next to him was also grim, but she still had life about her. There was something in her life that made her wake up every morning, that brought her to work every day. Probably a kid, by the way the ring flashed on her hand. The African-American man was built, strong, and the muscle. He immediately set to teasing his dark-haired colleague as she stepped into the room, something about picking up strays off the street, but she simply rolled her eyes. The playboy. Castle liked him already.

The man on the other side of her was older, graying, obviously the wise one. He wasn't the leader, but Castle could tell he could have been. He was casual and cool and Castle knew he recognized the man from somewhere…

"David Rossi." The name came unbidden to his head as he looked at the other man.

Rossi's mouth tipped up slightly. "Richard Castle."

"You two know each other?" That was Alpha.

"We're writers," Rossi replied with a shrug. "We've met once or twice."

That sent Alpha's eyebrow even higher.

"He consults on cases," Kate spoke up quickly, defending him for the second time that day. Castle blinked. Had he stepped into some sort of alternate universe?

They took a few minutes to do introductions. Then, the room fell silent. Kate shifted on her feet beside Castle and he glanced down at her in utter confusion. Kate never deferred to anyone, her direct bosses the exception. The fact that it seemed like she wanted to say something and yet wasn't was an odd change to see.

Agent Hotchner shifted on his feet slightly, unwittingly mirroring Kate's shift just seconds before, then cleared his throat, but not the tension permeating the room. "What can you tell us?"

"Vic number three, Nelson Hurley," Esposito spoke up, handing a photo to Agent Morgan. The agent pinned it to the board with the rest of the pictures and evidence.

"Preliminary COD is, well, stabbing," Lanie spoke up from beside Esposito, looking down at her notebook. "I'll have my official findings in a few hours, but the wounds match our first two victims."

"Are there any weapon characteristics?" Agent Rossi inquired, sitting on the other side of the table from Lanie and Esposito, his eyes fixed on the boards.

Lanie arched an eyebrow. "Let me explain somethin' to you Agent Rossi," she began, the usual Lanie attitude loud in her voice. "Cuttin' cleanly through seven layers of skin? Not an easy task. There was no evidence of the skin being torn by any sort of regular knife. You're looking for something extremely sharp. There's no indication of how long the knife is."

A faint smirk drifted over the elder agent's face as he flipped through crime scene photos in a file on his lap.

"What about victim connections?" Hotchner asked.

"Our first two victims were married, then divorced," Ryan spoke up, checking his notebook. "They were high school sweethearts. Family and friends say the divorce came as a surprise to most people."

Agent Jareau lifted the handset to the phone in the conference room, quickly dialing a number.

"Garcia here, my fantastic crime fighters and very brave members of the NYPD, locked, loaded and ready to search."

Castle couldn't stop himself from arching an intrigued eyebrow.

"Hey Garcia," Agent Jareau said, leaning over the phone. "Can you add the name Nelson Hurley to your list?"

"I can," the tech replied, the speakerphone catching the sound of the analyst's fingers flying across the computer keys. "I've complied a file on both of your first victims, they should be in your inbox as we speak."

"And-"

"Cross-reference all three names and see where they intersect, of course," Garcia's voice floated over the line. "New York's a big city, it's going to take some time."

"Ah, but that's the beauty about New York," Castle spoke up, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "everyone's connected."

"Keep us up to date," Agent Jareau said and hung up.

Kate let out a heavy sigh. "Castle and I will take the family," she volunteered. "Ryan, Esposito… Whatever the FBI needs, you give it to them." The detectives nodded, then she turned to her best friend. "Lanie-"

"I'm gone," the ME nodded, her hand brushing Kate's arm as she stepped up beside the detective. "I'll bring my findings around when I'm done," she said to the room at large.

Agent Hotchner nodded. "Thank you, Doctor Parish."

"Sure thing." She paused beside Castle, glancing around to see everyone concentrated on something else and Kate lost in her own little world. Castle looked down at her, raising an eyebrow in question. Lanie met his gaze seriously. "I'm – _we're_ – glad you're back," she told him softly.

Castle took in the exhaustion lines on Kate's face and the tense way she held her body. As if sensing his gaze, Kate looked up at him and offering him a tight turn of the lips.

"Let's go notify the Hurleys they've just lost a son."

His brow furrowed as he followed her out of the room. She was tense, irritable, cranky and more so than usual. Looking at how hard she was taking the case, he was glad he was back too.

"A writer?" Hotch asked with a raised eyebrow as he watched the detective leave the room, her apparent partner on her tail. Within moments of meeting Detective Katherine Beckett, he'd realized that she was very used to being in control. The rest of the NYPD members looked up to her, looked to her and so when she'd given herself the job of going to talk to Nelson Hurley's family, he'd let her go. He could send other people to talk to the family later.

"I'm a writer," Dave defended, much to the team's amusement.

"You don't write fiction," Hotch replied, turning back to the board.

"It's not going to hurt anything," Emily said calmly. She could see where Hotch was coming from, because it was obvious that this Castle was an unknown entity that didn't have the training they did. At the same time, it was obvious that he not only made the detectives lighten up a little bit, but that he brought an outside view. With the job they did, cases like these, Emily was sympathetic to the idea that some levity was a precious commodity.

Hotch turned to JJ, the publicity expert, who simply offered him a shrug.

"I have to agree with Emily. Until he proves he's going to impede the investigation, I don't see why he has to go."

Hotch still seemed unsure, but he nodded slowly. "Then let's focus on victimology until they bring us back the family interviews."

* * *

"I don't think the Feds like me."

Kate arched an eyebrow as she turned the corner onto a more residential street. She had to admit, even if it was only to herself, having Rick back was making the case just that little bit less depressing. It was still brutal, still sadistic, but his seemingly unwavering ability to turn conversations around at a moment's notice was helping her detach slightly from the gruesomeness.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

Rick shrugged. "Just a vibe I got." He glanced at her. "Was it your choice to call them?"

Kate sighed. The general theory that cops and Feds didn't get along was not far from the truth by any stretch of the imagination. "They have a unique insight."

"I have a unique insight," he countered. "And you knew I was coming back last night."

"They also bring extra resources that even you, Castle, couldn't bring us." She didn't want to fight with him. She didn't usually want to fight with him, and now… Now she was afraid that she was most definitely going to say something she would regret later. She was exhausted, snippy and cranky and it was all the case's fault. Kate didn't do well when her cases ended with nothing to work with.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked quietly.

Kate sighed as they pulled to a stop at a light. "You tell me, Castle. You saw the pictures."

He shivered in his seat beside her. "Those are images that I will never get out of my head. I don't think I'll ever be able to write a murder scene the same way."

"Well, try walking into one," she replied wryly as she smoothly turned the corner onto the Hurleys' street.

Rick couldn't stop himself. He reached out, resting a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry I wasn't here," he murmured.

"Yeah well," she said, blinking rapidly. "We all have our jobs, Castle."

God, she was losing it. He could tell, just in a glance. She was losing it and he hadn't been around to steady her. He felt that odd sense of guilt, of knowing that this was hard on her and he'd been gallivanting across the country. Choice or no choice, he didn't like to see her hurting. He settled back against the chair, watching the houses go by. A plan was already forming in his mind, a plan that involved dinner and quite possibly physically dragging her out of the precinct. But he'd made a decision now: his new goal was to try and lighten Kate's night.

He almost hopped out of the car when she pulled into the Hurley's house but immediately sobered when she shot him a confused and slightly irritated look. They were notifying a family, this wasn't the time to be excited about his plan. Then, she stood beside the car for a moment, looking up at the house, and his conscience kicked in too late to stop his next move. He walked around the car, to stand in front of her and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her body. She stiffened for a moment, then gave in and held on.

She let go after a few minutes and he gave her a small smile when she met his gaze nervously.

"You looked like you could use one," he said quietly.

She nodded, once, and Rick stepped back. Kate led the way up the neat stone walk and up the stairs. She paused when she was there and Rick knew she was gathering herself. His hand ghosted down her back brushing the fabric of her coat. She sucked in a deep breath as he stepped closer and she knocked on the door. He knew she hated this part.

"Hello." An older woman answered the door.

"Mrs Hurley?"

"Can I help you?"

Kate flashed her badge. "Detective Beckett, NYPD. We need to talk to you about your son."

* * *

_Yay! And a little hug there to tie you fluff fans over. _

_The next chapter has quite a few missing scenes so it's not likely we'll have it to you in the next week. We'll give it our best, but we make no guarantees!_

_In the meantime... review? We'd appreciate it!_


	4. Supporting Each Other

**Memoir**

**Chapter 3: Supporting Each Other **

"Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Nelson?" Kate asked the tearful family in front of her. She shared a loveseat with Rick, something she found herself actually thankful for and simultaneously confused by. Since his return – and it had only been a few hours since he'd started on the case with her – a little bit of the heavy weight of the case had lifted. For that, Kate was utterly thankful, but the fact that she was so thankful didn't make sense.

"My son was a good person Detective," Betty Hurley answered, dabbing at her eyes.

"Anyone at work?" Kate suggested quietly.

Wayne Hurley shrugged, his arm wrapped around his wife. "He was a bouncer, Detective. He had plenty of 'enemies'."

Kate let out a mental sigh as she withdrew the pictures of Amanda Salinas and Mervin Casey. "Did your son know either of these people?"

Betty Hurley took Mervin's picture, her hand coming up to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears again. "Mervin and Nelson were best friends. Nelson was the best man at Mervin's wedding."

Kate exchanged a look with Rick. "And this woman?"

"Amanda," Wayne Hurley provided. "She married Mervin."

"Mervin moved in with Nelson when he and Amanda decided to get a divorce," Betty agreed. "It was so sad. Mervin was like a son to us. He and Amanda reminded me of me and my husband. Mervin and Amanda were high school sweethearts."

Kate took the pictures back, tucking them back into her portfolio "Thank you for your time, Mr and Mrs Hurley."

They Hurleys stood and followed Kate and Rick to the door.

"Detective?" Betty stopped them. "Mervin and Amanda…"

Kate swallowed. This was what she'd been hoping to avoid. This woman didn't need to know what had happened to the other two victims.

"They were both killed," she heard Rick's voice from behind her, the same time she felt his hand rest briefly against her back. "But we _will_ find the person responsible ma'am."

Betty nodded, sniffling slightly and turning into her husband.

Kate forced herself to reach out, squeezing the woman's shoulder briefly. "We're very, _very_ sorry for your loss."

They walked back to the car in silence, though Kate could feel Rick's eyes on her. Part of her was mad at herself, at her reaction, at how this was attacking her and eating her from the inside out. She should have been able to tell Betty Hurley that, unfortunately, Mervin and Amanda had been killed too. She was a cop, she dealt with victims every day. She dealt with murder every day. Yet this time, this case…

"You okay?"

She hadn't realized she'd just been sitting in the driver's seat, her hands playing with her keys, until Rick's voice startled her back to the present. She cleared her throat quietly and efficiently inserted the correct key into the ignition. "Fine."

It was a few minutes before he spoke again. "You know, it's okay to not be fine."

Kate squeezed the steering wheel but didn't reply. She recognized it for the statement it was and there was a large part of her that was grateful for his support. Which in itself was more than a little confusing. She was Detective Kate Beckett and she hadn't needed anyone's support for how many years now? This wasn't her first serial case, not by a long shot. Since when had she needed someone to lean on through the grotesque nature of killing another human being?

"Oooh! Pull over!"

It was almost the shock that had her doing as he asked, pulling into the nearest empty spot on the side of the road. He jumped out of the car almost immediately.

"Castle!"

"I'll be right back!"

Kate huffed as she sat back in the driver's seat, cursing Castle. A second ago she'd been grateful he was around and now… well, she was trying to decide where the best spot to shoot him was without getting the inside of the car too bloody. Then he was slipping back into the car, his face a mask of cheerful innocence as he held out a coffee and a bag. She noticed he held nothing for himself.

"What's this?"

He shrugged, though she could tell he was feigning the nonchalance about it. There was something else there, hiding under the surface and it wasn't the first time she'd seen it either. "You looked like it was about time for a pick-me-up. You get cranky when you're not properly fed and caffeinated."

It wasn't an uncommon excuse and she felt her lips twitch up. She was back to being grateful as she took the cup and the bag, settling both in the console between them as she moved to get the car back on the road. She looked over at him as they hit a red light.

"Hey Castle?"

He hummed his acknowledgment, blue eyes meeting hers.

"Thanks."

* * *

His smile told her he knew it was for more than just the coffee.

"Explain something to me."

Esposito looked up as Doctor Lanie Parish came striding into the precinct. "Hey, Doc. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

She waved a file. "I told you guys I'd bring the final report to you myself. Plus, it seems like everyone's forgotten how to pick up their phones."

Esposito grinned up at her unrepentantly. "The Feds are here, we've been preoccupied."

"Too preoccupied for your results and autopsy report?" Lanie inquired, whacking him with the file, dark eyes sparkling.

Esposito laughed slightly. "Got anything new?"

"No," the ME admitted. "Well, not forensically."

Esposito raised an eyebrow.

"You're kidding me, right?" she snorted. "Am I the only one separated enough to notice the sexual tension?"

"Beckett and Castle?" Esposito inquired. "That's not new."

"Nah, they don't hide it as well. It's out there for the world to see, even more so with how worried he is about her." Lanie's forehead wrinkled slightly at that thought.

Esposito reached out, resting a hand on Lanie's arm surprised at the shock of awareness that raced up his arm. "She'll be fine. She's got Castle and we both know as much as he plays the playboy he'll follow her like a puppy. A really protective puppy."

Lanie ignored the tingle that spread through her body at the warmth of his touch. "I was talking about the agents."

"Whoa, what?"

"Are you kidding me, _Detective_?" she asked with a chuckle, turning to lean against his desk so she could look him in the eye. He leaned back in his chair and Lanie fought to keep her gaze on his face. _Damn_, the man was built. "You're telling me you can't see the repressed sexual tension between Agent Tall-Dark-and-Broody and his female twin?"

"Agent Hotchner and Agent Prentiss?" Esposito clarified raising an eyebrow. "You're kidding me."

"Do I kid, Esposito?" Lanie replied echoing his raised eyebrow with one of her own.

"You really think those two want to jump each other?"

"As much as your boy wants to get it on with my girl," Lanie replied with an amused tilt of her mouth. "They're doin' the whole finishing each other's sentences and talking with glances. Same way Writer Boy and Kate do."

"They read people's minds for a livin'," Esposito pointed out dubiously.

"So?"

"So if they want each other, wouldn't the other one know?" the detective questioned, folding his arms over his chest.

Lanie rolled her eyes. "Kate and Castle know they want each other," she pointed out.

"Hello, Doctor Parish."

The ME flashed her most charming grin at the African-American agent that came sauntering their way. "Agent Morgan," she greeted.

Esposito turned so he faced the agent, the back of his chair inches from Lanie's thigh. Morgan's step hitched slightly at the movement though neither the detective nor the medical examiner noticed.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your charming presence?" the agent inquired.

Lanie held up the file. "Hand delivered results," she answered. "Unfortunately, I don't have anything new."

Morgan grinned as he took the folder. "That is unfortunate."

"Lanie?"

Kate and Castle had returned and the ME grinned involuntarily at how Castle was following just a little bit closer behind her than usual. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told Castle she was glad he was back. He had a way of lightening her best friend and though Kate still looked run down and exhausted, she carried a cup of coffee that Lanie had no doubt he'd cajoled her into stopping to get and a confidence in her step that had slipped away after they'd determined they were dealing with a serial killer.

"Hey girl. Nothin' new on your vic."

The detective let out a heavy sigh, though there was an awareness about her that said she didn't expect anything. "Excellent."

"Sorry."

Kate waved it off, though raised an eyebrow as she took in the positions of the three of them. Lanie saw Castle open his mouth to comment before Agent Jareau poked her head out of the 'war room'.

"Garcia's on the line."

. . . . .

Back in her bunker in Quantico, Penelope Garcia's fingers continued to skim over the keys in front of her, bringing up window after window on her numerous monitors.

"Hello, my darlings," she greeted when JJ told her to go ahead.

"That was fast."

Garcia grinned with pride at the unknown voice. She loved it when she could shock the local officers when she exercised the full range of her technical abilities.

"Unfortunately, and much to my annoyance and chagrin, I can't say any of the information I have feels like the breakthrough we're looking for."

"Lay it on us anyway, Mama," Morgan's voice floated through her earpiece.

"Okay, cross reference gave me little in common between our three vics," she said. "There's nothing that screams 'I fit a serial killer's profile'."

"Do they usually?"

Garcia smirked. Whoever that was, she could hear the raised eyebrow.

"Shut it, Castle."

Garcia chuckled to herself. God, she loved listening to the play-by-play on the other end of the phone. "Ah yes, this would be the Page Six playboy author I assume?"

"The one and only and it seems like you know a lot about me while I know nothing about you beyond the sound of your voice." Then there was shuffling. "Okay! Okay! Apples, apples, apples!"

"Garcia?"

Her spine straightened reflexively at Hotch's voice, even as her own tone continued to retain the amusement she felt at the whole situation. "Amanda Salinas and Mervin Casey married in 1998, divorced six years later, no kids."

"They were high school sweethearts," a woman spoke, a voice Garcia didn't recognize as one of her team.

"And now I'm not so surprised that they share the same high school or graduation year. Nelson Hurley is also of the same graduating class."

"His parents told us he was best man at the wedding of Amanda and Nelson," the same female voice said.

_Lead detective_, Garcia's mind provided.

"So our UNSUB is either hunting the graduating class or the wedding party of Amanda Salinas and Mervin Casey," Emily spoke up next. "Garcia-"

"List of graduates coming your way and I'll see what I can find on the wedding party," she interrupted. She vaguely heard Emily turn to Hotch and say they had to go talk to the family of both again to see if there was a list of wedding party members lying around.

"Castle and I have names from Nelson Hurley's work too."

"Send them over SuperDetective and I'll see if they match with any of our graduates."

"You are fantastic, PG," Emily said, laughter in her voice and Garcia figured she'd taken the detective off guard.

"Stay safe crime fighters!" She hung up, fingers already flying. Graduating class, wedding party… what was the world coming to?

* * *

_We are both extremely apologetic about how long this took to post! And we are both at fault. Real life got in the way as did a supreme lack of inspiration as to how to get this chapter to come out right. We both swear the next chapter should come faster and you may even get less case and more personal interaction._

_For the CM followers, we haven't forgotten them! It'll be a couple of chapters before they're the focus, but we promise we haven't just thrown them aside!_

_If you're still with us, we'd appreciate it if you could review._


	5. Chipping Away the Armor

**Memoir**

**Chapter 4: Chipping Away The Armor **

Night rolled around too quickly and it only felt that way because Rick could see it wearing on Kate.

Lanie's admission that they were all glad he was back, that specifically _she_ was glad he was back, had flipped a switch in his brain. It was almost like the switch Alexis' negative emotions evoked but this, he knew, was different. This was his Kate. And since it was night, it was time to put his plan into action.

He'd left her in the precinct almost two hours before in an attempt to look like he was taking a break, that he wasn't worried about the fact that she'd said she'd spend a few more hours then go home. Even Ryan and Esposito hadn't believed her, though they were much better at coming up with plausible excuses for sticking around than he was. He was just climbing out of the cab he'd taken to the precinct when his phone rang.

"Castle."

"We left her there." It was Esposito. As Kate's self-proclaimed surrogate brother, he and Rick had an unspoken agreement as to how to most effectively deal with Kate's driving stubbornness. "Barring an order from Montgomery, I think she'll stay the night."

"Ah, good thing I came armed with a bribe then," Rick responded with false cheer. He was already disturbed about the fact that the detectives had been working the case for three weeks without him. He was behind, and beyond that, it was obvious that it was taking a toll on all of them. But more importantly he really, _really_ didn't like the look in Kate's eyes.

"You're at the precinct?"

"Yeah. Couldn't leave her there all night and she's more stubborn than the two of you."

There was a pause. "I'm glad you're back, Man."

Rick knew exactly what the detective was referring too. They were a team, all four of them, and though he wasn't an actual officer, he provided the one thing that they couldn't. There was a lot of cop in each of them, but he gave them something light, something to joke about. And, the one thing that was so important to Esposito and Ryan, Rick did everything he could to take care of Kate. "There's a lot of that going around. Had I known you guys would miss me this much I wouldn't have gone away in the first place."

"Yeah," Esposito replied. "Take good care of her."

Rick went serious. "I promise."

They hung up and Rick climbed onto the elevator that would take him up to what he often jokingly referred to as his second home. It wasn't the vacation home in the Hamptons, but it had a lot of things his summer mansion didn't. And one of those things, as he discovered when he stepped off the elevator, was not at her desk. He looked around frantically, half panicked until he saw her, curled up on a couch in a conference room, absolutely, positively asleep.

Though he knew that he shouldn't, he took a moment to watch her. He forgot about the heavy bags in one hand, or the cell phone in the other. The moment stretched before him as if it could last eternally. For one of the first times since he'd met her, Detective Katherine Beckett looked, if only momentarily, at peace.

There were no lines of worry etched on her face. There was no frown or smile. Her hair gently encircled her face; one of her arms was tucked closely to herself, underneath her chin. She looked blank, peaceful, as if he'd caught her in between dreams. She looked so out of place, even though she was in the precinct, lying on the break room couch – like seeing a co-worker show up to work in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. How many times had he had the chance to see her so … at ease? He'd seen her vulnerable more times than he knew she'd have liked. This was different than vulnerability – this was Kate when she had nothing on her mind. It was Kate without the detective, without the stress of her mother's death; this was simply Kate. Rick had the simultaneous urges to both tuck a blanket around her and leave her to rest peacefully. Just because one of them couldn't sleep didn't mean that the other shouldn't.

He was leaning towards the latter when everything about her changed. The difference was small at first – a subtle turning down of the mouth – but it quickly escalated into something else altogether.

The peace that he'd seen on her vanished as if it had never been there. She wasn't the simple, at peace woman he'd witnessed a moment before – but she wasn't toughened Beckett, either. It was as if she were witnessing something horrific without the help of that brick wall she'd built to defend herself against her job's horrors. Her posture changed; her muscles tightened; her nails dug into her palms. A muscle in her jaw twitched.

Her head tossed fitfully in her sleep; her breathing had quickened. Maybe he'd caught her in-between dreams, but this one was a nightmare. It was inevitable that she'd have them – anybody who saw what she did would, regardless of the front she put up every single day. Even the strongest of minds would have a problem processing this particular case.

Several seconds passed before he realized he was going to have to wake her up. She wasn't coming out of this on her own. She wasn't going to like that he'd been here to witness it, but there was little he could do about that. Rick wasn't going to let her suffer just for her pride. He placed the bags of food down next to the door and moved to the side of the couch. These horrors might not be the kind that one could see or touch, but they were real to her – and if they were real to her, they were real to him, too.

He crouched down enough so that if she opened her eyes, she'd see him – but not too close that she'd be startled by his presence. Rick gently reached forward and clasped her shoulder.

"Beckett," He whispered, not receiving an answer from the unconscious woman. He felt guilt spread through him. Logically, rationally, he understood that these were normal, but he couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if he were around. Could he have changed something? Come back from his tour earlier and done something in the beginning of this? Rick knew it was ridiculous to think that way, but he couldn't help it when he was seeing the horror play out on her face.

"Mom, don't leave, I can't – "

His heart constricted. "It's a nightmare, Kate." He soothed, shaking her shoulder more forcefully this time. "Wake up, Sweetheart, you're alright." That wasn't exactly truth, and he knew that. It was heartbreaking to realize that her reality was not only mixing with her imagination, but that it had conjured up the painful memories of her mother's murder.

He shook her shoulder one more time and her eyes opened suddenly. They were wide and unseeing, awake but not in the precinct. There were tears on her cheeks, her mind still stuck somewhere between reality and nightmare.

He didn't know if there was much of a difference between the two right now.

Kate wasn't blinking. "He's going to get to her too." She said, and there was panic in her voice.

"You're safe, Kate. You fell asleep in the precinct. Do you remember?" He kept talking to her in the hopes that it would bring about some sort of recognition of where she was. Slowly, he started to see it working – she began to blink, and instead of staring straight ahead, she was looking at him. When she seemed to recognize exactly who he was, she braced herself against the couch in order to sit up.

"Easy," He warned, putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her. She didn't even resist the offer, like he assumed she normally would have. She still wasn't guarded, but he had no doubts that she would be as soon as she could build that wall back up. He wished that he hadn't listened to her. He wished that he'd made her go home, found some way to force her, called in a favour from Montgomery or the mayor… _anything_ instead of going home under even the thinnest of pretences.

But, he remembered, if it hadn't been for that, there'd have been nobody to wake her up.

"I brought food." He continued, when she continued staring at him. He removed his hand from her shoulder and pointed towards the bag. "You were having a nightmare." He held her gaze as if he could anchor her in the world of the living. Her skin was drained of all it's colour, and she was shivering. In the same instant that he'd noticed, he'd shrugged off his jacket and put it around her shoulders, simultaneously fighting the urge to simply wrap her up in his embrace. Still, she didn't protest, and it would have worried him if he weren't grateful.

She looked so tired. In all of his writer's words, he could come up with no simpler way to explain how she looked. And what did he expect? This case was draining her; all these murders and the Behavioral Analysis Unit coming to be involved. Having the FBI in town was bound to put any detective on edge.

"Castle," She started, the first word she'd spoken directly to him since he'd woke her up.

"You don't have to explain, Kate." He said, because he could hear how the words were bothering her. "Unless you want to," He made sure to quickly add. "Because I'll lend an ear, if that's what you need." She didn't need to explain to him, if that was what she was doing. He didn't need an explanation that would only cause her to go through more pain, not right now. They could save that for later, when she wasn't shaking, still have caught in the world he'd torn her out of.

He could see the brick wall again – worn down by the horrors as of late, but still present. "Thanks, Castle, but I'm alright." She was blocking him out again, and he tried not to let it hurt. He recognized the need – she felt the pressure coming from all sides, and she didn't need more coming from him. Another time, and he might have pressed for what was behind the lie – but not today.

Instead, he stood and moved to sit beside her on the couch. "You look exhausted." He said softly.

The absence of a comeback worked also as an admission of that exhaustion. "I was close," She contemplated. "I was close, but there's something missing. I must have sat down and …" She indicated the couch with a hand.

"Even the FBI has gone to the hotel." Rick said. "You need to reboot."

She narrowed her eyes and he saw the spark flicker there for just a moment. "I'm not a computer, Castle, I don't need to reboot." The comeback was almost enough to make him smile. "What I need to do is solve this case." Her hands were shaking. Rick put a hand over hers to steady it. Once again, she didn't protest of pull away.

"The FBI has called it a night. In my books, that gives you permission to do the same." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and he saw the pain in her eyes. "You've done enough for one day. Staying here will only run you ragged."

There was hesitation in her eyes, quickly replaced by the firm stubbornness he'd come to know. She sighed heavily, an annoyed sound.

"You know I'm right." Rick said, running his thumb over the back of his hand. "Some rest will do you good."

"Castle, there's a serial killer in my jurisdiction. Resting really isn't on my to-do list until we catch this bastard." She was frustrated with him, Rick could tell – frustrated at him, perhaps, for pointing out the obvious when all she wanted to do was try and continue to work without seeing logic.

"You don't have to sleep." He contradicted, words softer than they normally were. "Just… get out of here."

She still seemed reluctant. "There's _something_ here."

"And you'll find it in the morning," he replied.

She ran a hand through her hair. "It's not that easy," she snapped. "Someone else might not be here in the morning. This is a serial killer, Castle and we don't know who he'll hit next."

He was one hundred percent sure she had no idea how revealing that statement was to him. She didn't want someone else to be living without a loved one. Without a brother, or a favourite aunt, or a grandparent. A mother. Regardless of the potential for his own demise, he caught the other hand that was reaching for a file on the table in front of him as he prepared to play his newly drawn trump card.

"You're not doing the families a disservice by taking a break," he said, his voice extremely soft. "You're not letting them down. The only way you'll be letting them down is if you keep up this way. You're exhausted Kate, whether you want to admit it or not, and you and I both know that exhausted detectives are sloppy, they miss things. You'll feel better and you'll be more helpful if you get some real sleep, some real food."

Her gaze was defiant, angry, and he could tell, a little relieved. If he'd known that all she'd need was someone to reassure her that taking a break wasn't a bad thing, he would have done it ages ago. "There's still stuff to do."

"And there will be a lot of stuff to do until this case is solved." Rick waited a beat. "Come home with me. We'll get some real food in you, not take out, and a bed to sleep on." And there would be people around to battle back her nightmares. Most importantly, however, he wanted her in his space, within close access if something was wrong. He would have no problem going back to her place and sleeping on her couch again – as lumpy and uncomfortable as it had been – but he was hoping it wouldn't come to that.

She dropped her head into her hands and he knew he had her. "I'm not blurred enough to sleep with you."

"I wouldn't expect you to be," he answered, his lips curving up slightly into a smile that betrayed all of the affection in him. He waited a beat. "Plus, when we sleep together I definitely want you to participate in every thrilling second. You can't do that when you're half asleep and borderline delirious."

Though the slap was weak because she was so tired, it made him feel better. It was a little piece of his Kate back in action, and he was determined to see more of it. For now though, he'd content himself with taking care of her in the tiniest ways she'd let him.

* * *

Alexis wrinkled her brow as she emerged from her bedroom. It was three AM, her usual wakeup time. She woke up nightly, thirsty, and usually left a glass of water on her bedside table, but she'd forgotten. Which was why she was wondering down the stairs at the ungodly hour of the morning. There was something amiss, however. Instead of a silent bottom floor of the loft, there was sound. And light by the looks of things. She walked slowly down the stairs.

"Detective Beckett?"

Kate looked up in shock and surprise. "Alexis. It's late."

"I could say the same for you," the redhead replied, hitting the bottom of the steps.

The detective sighed heavily. "Yeah."

Alexis detoured from the kitchen, heading for the couch, admittedly surprised at the blankets and pillows scattered on the couch. It was then that the youngest Castle also noted the t-shirt the other woman wore. It was one of her father's more well-known and well-worn shirts. "Is everything okay, Detective?"

"It's Kate, Alexis," the brunette insisted, playing with the edge of the blanket over her lap. "It's… been a difficult couple of days."

"The case?" Alexis asked, taking a seat on the edge of the couch.

Kate looked almost horrified. "Did your dad tell you about it?"

Alexis shook her head quickly, swiftly, and immediately. "He's been suspiciously tight-lipped about the whole thing."

"Good," Kate sighed in relief. "This one…"

The redhead sized up the situation quickly putting on a bright grin. "I think ice cream is in order." She bounced over to the freezer.

"Alexis-"Kate tried, getting up from the couch following the girl.

"Chocolate, vanilla, cookie dough or strawberry?" the teenager asked cheerfully. "And sundae or plain?"

Kate slid onto a stool as Alexis pulled out the ice cream, recognizing the Castle determination when she saw it. She was too tired to fight, to worn and raw to really turn down comfort food. And the detective was well-versed in the Castle tradition of ice cream. "Chocolate. And add a scoop of cookie dough."

The youngest Castle did so with a dramatic flourish. It was moments like these that Kate could tell exactly who Alexis' family was. She chose strawberry, then pretty much led the way back to the couch. "What were you watching?"

"Infomercials," Kate admitted sheepishly.

Alexis' eyes widened slightly before the smile was back. "We have a _massive_ movie collection and you choose to watch infomercials?"

The brunette blushed. "I didn't want to intrude-"

"You're not intruding, Kate," the redhead insisted with a look of exasperation, a look Kate had seen the teenager give her father on a number of occasions. "Mi casa es su casa." There was a pause. "Dad would say the same thing." Her grin was back. "So what'll it be?"

* * *

_We did it! It took FOREVER, yes, because Rick and Kate flat out refused to cooperate in the beginning, but we did it! An in over 3000 words too. We both sincerely hope you guys are satisfied with this chapter despite the long wait. If you're with us, please do drop us a line, even if it's in irritation about how long this took to get up. We'd both truly appreciate you taking the time. _

_And we also promise that our next chapter should be up faster. With CM and Castle returning soon (MONDAY!) we should be back to more regular updates. However, please do give us a bit of time for our schedules to level out. We'd appreciate it!_

_But first, review. Then... well, poke us every once in a while when we don't update to make sure we're alive._


	6. The End of Innocence

**Memoir**

**Chapter 5: The End of Innocence**

Kate woke with a fleeting sense of security that, like a dream, began to vanish in a fog as soon as she recognized it. She didn't open her eyes immediately in a somewhat desperate attempt to cling to the fragmented feeling, to store it away where the day couldn't touch it. The recent weeks had a way of doing that – of leeching happiness and replacing it with exhaustion and stress. She kept her eyes closed, wishing to stave off the day.

Maybe those three weeks would have been easier with Castle around, but it hardly mattered. She'd done all of this before, of course – the hard cases, the ones that felt like they would pull her apart. She'd done it without him and had to try and ignore just how dependant she'd grown on seeing him there day to day. The first body had shown up soon after he'd left, but when she'd seen it, relief had flown through her. The work took away any capacity she had to think about just how much she was missing him, except for those seconds in time where everything collapsed around her and she wished he was standing near her. Not that she'd ever think about admitting that tidbit out loud.

He didn't have to see this case. As much as he'd seen when shadowing her, this was by far the absolute worst, and it would have taken whatever boyish innocence their partnership hadn't already stolen from him. Because God knew it had taken hers a long time ago. She knew how to compartmentalize, but Castle, she believed, shouldn't have to. The worst nightmares he could imagine were _nothing_ compared to these victims.

There was something else he didn't have to see, as well. He didn't have to see just how badly this case was affecting her, and she didn't have to go through his asking if she was alright when she wasn't and she just wanted to push it to the back of her mind. Even if it would have made it easier, turning all of it into an endless vicious circle.

It was still better this way, because both of them didn't have to be haunted by this.

She'd handled those three weeks without him, just like she had all the years before. She went home nightly and in her worst moments, the ones she couldn't get through with a solitary glass of wine and some mindless sitcom, she picked up a novel of his. Kate had nearly forgotten how much lighter he'd made those days, or how much stress he'd taken off of her shoulders by showing up with a coffee or shooting her a glance. But now she knew. Now she understood.

She hated that he was seeing it, but she was selfishly glad he was back.

Something itched at the back of her mind, the hint of a realization – before her eyes flew open, suddenly aware something was off. It wasn't the precinct's couch she was lying on.

It was Castle's house.

The security she'd felt suddenly made stupid sense.

And yet, she was embarrassed by the fact that she'd been mid-nightmare when he'd come into the precinct last night. The weakness of a nightmare was something she didn't want associated with the Kate Beckett he knew. She'd shown him enough of her vulnerability over their years as partners. Because she wasn't a weak female, by any stretch of the imagination, and that was without acknowledging the trust it took for Kate to let Castle see her like that. He'd thrown her off with his no-strings-attached support and comfort, the things he offered her because that was just who he was. Kate dealt with nightmares, with bad cases, in her own way and she wasn't used to having someone else to share the burden.

She didn't _want_ any one else sharing that kind of burden. Especially Castle, whose innocence she'd already squandered by not fighting hard enough to keep him away from the murder scenes.

Kate's eyes went to the other side of the couch. She wasn't alone. Alexis was curled on the other end, her arm a pillow, the blanket half-off. Memories flashed back, late-night ice cream and half a Patrick Dempsey movie before the teen had been asleep and Kate had turned it off.

Her eyes found the clock, and she caught her breath in surprise. She'd actually _slept_, for what felt like the first time in three weeks. Kate tried not to think about what that meant, exactly. Because it hadn't been the precinct or in her own bed she'd been able to do that.

Alexis looked so peaceful lying there, so untroubled. Kate tugged the fallen edge of the blanket over her shoulder and smiled slightly, slipping out from underneath her own quilt.

The house was silent, but it was different here than in her own house. Here, the silence was alive, full of the possibility of noise. At her place, the silence was sometimes stifling, deafening in its symbolism. Her apartment felt abandoned. His loft hummed in preparation of a new day. She blinked against the small amounts of early morning light filtering through the blinds and, as she turned to the kitchen, it was just enough illumination to make out the figure standing behind the counter.

"Good morning, Beckett." Castle called over his shoulder, his voice low. He flipped something in a skillet. If Kate hadn't been looking that way already, the sudden words might have startled her.

She walked towards the counter, resting her hands on it. "Morning," She replied, just as quietly. The air smelled of pancakes and chocolate, strong enough for her to realize she was hungry.

"Sleep well?" He asked, looking over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow.

She caught the second question in his words and paused. It was question of how she was – but she chose to gloss over it, like he knew she would.

"Yeah." The answer was simple. "You?"

"Like a rock."

She caught the lie, too. And as he'd ignored the non-answer to his question, she ignored this – but she made note of it.

She was always making note of it.

Castle turned, a plate in his hand. "Breakfast is served."

"Breakfast?" The inquiring voice came from Alexis, risen from her spot on the couch. "Dad, please tell me you didn't try to make S'more pancakes." Kate briefly wondered how long the teen had been awake.

She couldn't help the snort. "S'mores, Castle?" The momentary laugh, however trivial, felt good.

"Don't worry, I made regular pancakes for the _less daring_." He shot a look at his daughter, who touched Kate's shoulder as she passed.

"_Don't_ be daring."

Kate's eyes went to the clock, and she bit the inside of her cheek. Even if she started out now, she wouldn't make it there early as she'd been doing since the case had started. She had to be there before the BAU, if nothing else just to start looking back over files, make notes, see if she could find anything, and –

"You're staying for breakfast." Castle's voice seemed to echo the very thoughts in her head. Before she could even open her mouth to protest, he was rebutting her. God, he knew her too well – eerily well. "Ryan and Esposito won't be there for another hour and a half, at least, and the FBI needs you functioning." He pushed the plate of pancakes forward on the table, next to the place where Alexis was sitting. "So eat."

Alexis looked over her shoulder. "He'll never let you leave if you don't." The teen nodded towards the seat her father had placed the breakfast in front of. She waited, eyes going from Kate back to her father. "And neither will I."

Kate sighed and relented, half because she wanted to and half because the both of them had that trademark Castle family look, the one that reminded Kate ever so slightly of a child. She narrowed her eyes just the smallest bit, because Kate wasn't willing to let him win this, even now.

"Fine, Castle." She pulled out the chair, sat down in it, and tried not to let either of the Castle's smiles get to her. Both of them conspiring against her was hardly fair, but she picked up the fork anyway. If nothing else, she did need to eat, and she couldn't help but want to linger here for just a second longer.

Castle put his own plate on the other side of Alexis, sitting down and digging in. The three of them ate in silence for a second, but it wasn't awkward – instead, she found that the entire thing seemed ordinary. It felt as if it weren't her first time sitting here, that perhaps she'd sat here and done this every day of the week. It wasn't forced, but easy.

It was Alexis who finally broke the comfortable silence between the three of them. "We never finished our movie." She observed, turning to her. "We'll have to do that sometime." The youngest Castle offered Kate a genuine smile before turning back to her breakfast.

She was surprised at the sudden request, but pleased as well. She turned her eyes to Castle, swallowing the bite of pancake before speaking. "Of course we can, if your dad doesn't mind," She began, aware that the words were coming out awkwardly, trying to fix them. She knew her place so easily with Castle at work - but here, she couldn't help but be the slightest bit formal even if last night should have been enough to change that for her. "Once this case is done." She added, voice changing just a bit.

"You're always welcome here, Kate. Case or not." His voice was nothing but sincere, and the smile on his face was warm and genuine. He waited a second before adding, "What movie?" There was that classic Richard Castle spark of interest in his eyes.

"Sorry, Dad." Alexis patted her father's arm sympathetically. "No boys allowed."

"Oh, now that's just not fair." His whine was familiar to her ears, more so than she'd have ever thought it would become. It was familiar enough that she didn't have to think about how this case was affecting him; he was simply being himself. "Come on..." He pouted and turned to her, a teasing plea written all over his face. "Kate?"

She tried to hide the smile and turn her face into an expression of authority. "Sorry, Castle. Girl's night only." She shared a conspiratorial smile with Alexis, surprised at the unexpected feeling of lightness.

"I see how it is." He continued to pout, stabbing the fork into the last of the pancakes. She couldn't hide the smile that time. Most of her mornings were filled with a quick cup of coffee, reading over papers if she had a case going on, maybe cereal. If she got called in for a body early morning, she was lucky if she had time to grab something.

This was different. It was pleasant. And she liked it.

"This is the last time I make breakfast for any of you." He continued to pout. "See who makes S'more pancakes next-"

His sentence was interrupted by the shrill ringing of a phone.

Her phone.

The demeanour changed instantly. Castle was silent, his expression going grim even though she could see him trying to remain hopeful. He was always so gleeful whenever she called with a body - but this case had changed everything. Even Alexis' face turned down. Kate could feel all the tension return to her shoulders, as though a tremendous weight had been dropped. She barely needed to look, but she reached for the phone anyway.

Esposito.

She flipped it open, taking a breath before she spoke, wondering briefly if she should walk away so Alexis didn't hear. The thought was fleeting, because he was already talking on the other end of the line.

"We've got another one. School teacher at PS196." He paused. "And Beckett? It's not pretty."

Kate was already moving as Esposito spoke, shoving one last forkful of pancakes in her mouth as she headed for her jacket. She was almost out the door when she remembered her manners and turned back to say thank you to both Big and Little Castle for being so hospitable. When she did turn, Castle was right behind her, holding his coat.

"Castle, no."

She'd managed to keep him from every crime scene and the last thing she wanted him to see was one live. It was one thing to see gore like this in pictures, a completely other to smell the copper, to all but taste it on your tongue. _That_ was what Kate wanted to keep Castle from. That kind of weight wasn't something he needed to bring home to his family.

Still, Castle pouted. "I always come with you."

"I'll call you when we've got the scene cleared, okay?" she bargained, knowing it was her best bet to keep him away.

"Kate," he said, his voice playfully scolding. "Nuh uh. You can't get rid of me that easily."

She sighed, all of the weight she'd released over her time at the Castle loft landing on her shoulders once again. "Please, Castle?"

That seemed to make him pause. Which meant she must have looked borderline pathetic if he was considering leaving her alone just because she'd asked nicely. Either that, or he was perceptive enough to understand that this was something she needed to do by herself. But then, his face hardened.

"Nope, not going to work. Now, we're going to be _very_ late to your crime scene."

Kate placed a hand on his chest, trying for her most severe look despite the pressure she could already feel building in her head. She _abhorred_ this case. "No. _I'm _going to be late for my crime scene. You can't come, Castle. And that's final."

His eyes met hers, burning in irritation and annoyance at the fight she was putting up. But Kate didn't care. Someday, he'd realize it was for his own protection.

"I'm coming, _Beckett_. Unless you want me to call Bob."

"That threat won't work," Kate shot back. "The Mayor knows about this case, Castle, he knows the types of things I have to see."

"So do I," he fought back. "I've seen the pictures."

"But you've never seen the real thing," she hissed back, remembering with a sudden wash of fear that the teenaged Alexis was still in the room, within hearing distance. "Castle, this isn't just a murder scene, okay? This is the murder scene of a serial killer. The real thing is _so much worse_ than the pictures."

Castle stood firm. "I'm coming with you. _That's_ the way it's going to be."

And then, much to her shock, Alexis took the decision out of her hands. The redhead skipped over, travel mugs of coffee in hand, offering one to her dad and one to Kate. She shrugged at the surprised look on the detective's face. "I have a memory like an elephant and the eye of my dad," she explained. "It should be the way you make it."

Kate looked down, touched and a little afraid at the speed with which she'd been cycling through emotions. "Thanks, Alexis," she offered.

"No problem," the teenager replied. She pinned Kate's eyes seriously. "Go get him."

"We will." She confirmed, somewhat because Castle was still standing there next to her and she couldn't stand to say anything different to Alexis, despite the feeling that this killer was alluding them more than the others.

"I know you will." Alexis offered a smile that was nothing less than encouraging, leaving Kate with the feeling that the youngest Castle had the ability to see through her words just as much as the older one did.

"And Kate?" The voice called her back. Kate turned with questioning eyes towards the teen. "Thanks for staying for breakfast."

She paused before answering. Was there something else in her voice? More than just being grateful for staying for pleasant conversation?

"You're welcome, Alexis."

The door was closed behind them and they were heading down the hall. It was like a barrier between the pleasantness of her morning and what she knew was coming with that crime scene.

She didn't look at him as they moved down the hallway, even though she could feel that his attention was most definitely on her. That earlier sense of security was gone already, crushed by that phone call - and by him following her right now. Kate couldn't help the sense that by his following her, she'd never get that security back. Which was ridiculous, because she didn't want to rely on anybody but herself for that.

She heard him take a breath to speak when they neared the car, and Kate turned her eyes on him so quickly that his mouth shut.

"Don't." She said, sharply. "Just don't, Castle." A hint of desperation made its way in there, the second time in less than twenty minutes. If he had to follow along, she didn't want to hear any of his assurance that all of this would be alright. She didn't want to want or need him there.

He nodded once before getting into the passenger seat of the car. If she didn't know him so well she'd have thought he was conceding. She got into her own side, the silence between them anything but comfortable - but it was better this way. She didn't have to talk, didn't have to worry about how her voice sounded or if he'd be thinking over her every word. She took the silence for what it was - she'd won the battle and not the war. Kate wasn't letting him see it, her own emotions be damned.

Even if it killed her.

* * *

Emily sighed heavily as she moved another page around, trying to find something that would lead to a break in the case. She'd gone to the hotel logically aware that there was nothing they could do for the time being. She'd intended to get some sleep, painfully aware that she should take advantage of the downtime, but when she'd been lying there, counting the two-thousand-one-hundred-and-seventy-sixth sheep, she'd come to the logical conclusion that the case was already bothering her. It wasn't the brutality; she'd seen worse. It wasn't the pain of the families, which was her characteristic response. No, this time, what affected her, was something else entirely.

Detective Beckett wasn't the first officer whom Emily could see was haunted by her job. By nature of being a homicide detective, the woman was faced with the things one person could do to another. It created a shadow in the eyes of the detectives. This one, this case, however… well, the exact darkness in Detective Beckett's eyes went beyond that of the detectives that saw death on a regular basis. And for some reason, it was really bothering Emily. She wanted nothing more than to give the detective a break. Even with her writer-slash-partner, who had certainly done _something_ to lighten the shadow in the detective's eyes.

Which was why she was sitting in the twelfth precinct of the NYPD as the sun rose, pouring over too many pieces of paper with nothing now to show for it.

"Have you been here all night?"

Her head shot up to find Hotch standing in the doorway of the conference room, two cups from the NYPD break room in his hands. The caffeine wafted into her nose as he set it at her elbow. "No?" she responded.

She ran a hand over her face, then went to do the same with her hair only to remember she'd yanked it back into a messy bun. She pulled it out self-consciously. Hotch watched her with sharp eyes. She was his friend, his major support system especially since Haley's murder. He worried about her, probably more than he should have, and especially when she was waking long before he was. She had bouts of insomnia that much he knew but this… Emily was attached to something in the case. It always happened. For Hotch, however, the concern came from exactly how early it was happening. Unfortunately for them, profiling often required information that came from their victims. They didn't have enough information. As cruel as it sounded, they needed another victim. That, Hotch knew, often bothered Emily.

He took the seat beside her, looking over the papers and pulling her file towards him. Emily consolidated all of the case information in her own copy of the case file using different colours and a variety of short forms. After the explosion in New York, he'd taken to using her case files to keep himself up to date. Emily made note of _everything_, so he'd been forced to learn all of her abbreviations. From her new notes in purple, Hotch could tell she'd been working for at least a few hours.

"I can't find anything new," she said, her hands coming up to press against her eyes. "There's no evidence that'll help narrow it down, there's nothing particularly characteristic about the cases…"

"Emily," he infused warning into her name. It was a horror of the job.

"I know, I know." She flashed him a tight smile. "I can still hate it."

He didn't have to tell her he did too. He was opening his mouth to ask her about the root of the problem when his phone went off. "Hotchner." He listened for a moment, his face turning grim. "Thanks."

Emily was already packing up. The wrinkle in his forehead was more than enough for her. They had another body.

* * *

PS196 was nestled just off of Avenue B and East 11th. With a quick and practiced flash of credentials, Hotch and Emily ducked under the crime scene tape at the front door of the school. Detective Esposito met them on the other side.

"Rest of your team's already here," he informed them, glancing over their shoulders as another car pulled to a stop beside the two FBI SUVs. Emily and Hotch didn't turn around, even with the two doors that obviously slammed behind them.

"I told you, Castle. _Go home_."

Emily and Hotch exchanged a raised eyebrow and turned as Detective Beckett stormed up the stairs, the writer close on her heels.

"Beckett – Kate – I'm not-"

"Will you listen _just once_?" Beckett whirled on him and Emily's eyebrows rose at the sheer temper evident in every line of the detective's body. "Go home. Go away. Go throw yourself into Nikki Heat." Then she continued up the stairs, leaving a hurt and confused writer behind. But Emily got it. Oh, did she ever, and it was confirmed by the deep sadness and trepidation in Beckett's eyes as she stopped in front of Esposito.

He spoke up immediately, glossing over the obvious confrontation. "Annie Bryers, sixty-four. English teacher here at the lovely and glamourous PS196."

Beckett glared. "Lanie here?"

"Yeah."

Which meant the body was too.

"Guy's sick," Esposito continued, letting the hatred and disgust show in his voice and in his eyes. "Caught her in the teacher's lounge, then dragged her to her classroom." He shook his head. "Girl and janitor found her this morning and called 9-1-1."

"Girl?" Emily inquired, taking a leaf out of the detectives' book and ignoring the outburst.

Esposito flipped through his notes. "Fifteen-year-old Allie Baker."

"I'd like to talk to her," Emily said, glancing to Hotch, who nodded, just barely. Then she turned to Beckett. "Mr. Castle has a daughter, correct? About the same age as Allie Baker?"

Beckett, though obviously confused, nodded. "Alexis."

"Perfect," Emily replied. "I'd like him to talk to her with me. I'm good with kids, even teens, but if he has a daughter, he'll be a big help in getting Allie Baker to talk." She was lying and she knew Hotch could tell, but Emily – and Hotch – knew how important it was to keep the good things close. Especially with brutality such as this.

"Okay," Beckett relented, "but keep him away from my crime scene."

With that, Hotch and the detectives headed off down the hall. Emily headed outside trying to hide her smile. The things they saw were brutal and gruesome and Emily could recognize a protective instinct when she saw it. Whether Detective Beckett wanted Castle around or not she was trying to protect him from seeing the dead body. Emily could understand that. Seeing the pictures was one thing. Seeing the actual scene was a whole other. She could understand Beckett's reluctance to shatter the happy innocence Castle exuded.

She strode towards the car Castle was leaning against, biting back her amusement as she took him in, watching the school defiantly. His arms were crossed over his chest. His eyes flicked to her as she drew near, then back to the school. "I'm not leaving."

Emily simply arched an eyebrow, stopping and mirroring his stance without the pout. "I'm not going to tell you to. In fact, Detective Beckett would like you to work with me in talking to Allie Baker. She's fifteen and the one who found Annie Bryers' body."

Castle's eyes dimmed quickly. "Fifteen?"

"Unfortunately," Emily answered, relaxing her stance.

Castle blew out a heavy breath. "Jesus."

"Exactly," Emily agreed solemnly. "You have a daughter. She may find it easier with someone who knows how a fifteen-year-old thinks." God, that sounded like she was fishing and the thankful look he sent her way told her he figured it out and was grateful.

"You know, Agent Prentiss, I like you."

They exchanged small smiles and headed into the school.

Allie Baker was a beautiful fifteen-year-old, even red-faced with mascara tracks down her cheeks. Castle immediately went to her side and Emily chose the seat across. There was no reason to crowd her.

"Hi, Allie," Castle greeted softly, drawing the girl's attention to him. "This is Agent Prentiss, she's with the FBI. And I'm-"

"Richard Castle," she said in a small, shaky voice, tinged just barely with admiration.

Castle smiled warmly. "You know my books."

"I want to be an author. Mrs. Bryers is helping me." Then she winced and turned back to her hands. "I mean was. She was helping me."

"Helping you?" Emily prodded gently. If the teen had been spending a lot of time with the teacher, it was likely she knew something the rest of them didn't. There was a good chance she knew Annie Bryers well.

Allie nodded. "Two or three days a week I used to stay late. She looked over what I had, gave me suggestions, pointers…" She shrugged. Then her eyes widened and she swallowed. "We… she was supposed to… we were…"

"You were supposed to meet last night," Castle prompted.

Allie hiccupped as tears flooded her eyes again. "She said she had a meeting and asked if we could meet this morning." Her head dropped into her hands and Castle's moved to stroke her back. He leaned forward, murmuring nonsense to her as she cried. Emily made a note on her page about the meeting."

"Allie," she said softly once the teen had calmed. "Did Mrs. Bryers tell you who she was meeting?"

"No," Allie said with a sniffle, accepting the handkerchief Castle held out to her and twisting it between her hands. "But then again… I didn't ask." Her eyes went to Castle. "I should have asked."

"You couldn't have known," Castle said, his hand still rubbing her back. Castle glanced up at Emily and when she stayed calm and cool, asked, "Did she say anything about the person she was meeting?"

"Um," Allie sniffled, twisting the handkerchief in her hands. "She said he was a student and that he was coming by the school." She blew out a breath. "It wasn't a long conversation and I didn't ask any questions. I just said yes to this morning."

Castle and Emily exchanged a look.

"Did anything seem off when you got here?" the agent inquired. "Did anything seem off about Mrs. Bryers when you left yesterday?"

"She was excited," Allie said. "Mrs. Bryers really cares about her students. She goes-" Her eyes closed, then opened again. "Went – above and beyond for her students." She sucked in a breath. "When I got here, Casper, that's Mr. Dover, the janitor, always stays late and he's here early. So I mentioned I was coming in… he opened the door for me and walked me to her class. We saw…" She choked on her tears as the surfaced again, then squeezed Castle's hand. Hard. "The blood, so Casper tried the door and… it was open, but when we stepped in-" The sobs started again and Emily felt her heart clench, even as Castle wrapped an arm around the teenager's shoulder. Allie turned into his shoulder as a knock sounded on the door. JJ and Beckett stood there with another woman.

"Allie," JJ called when Emily nodded. "Your mom's here."

The woman rushed in to take Castle's place as he stepped away. Castle and Emily moved towards their colleagues.

"Allie said Annie Bryers had a meeting last night," Emily said in a soft voice, too quiet for the mother and grieving daughter to hear. "She's pretty sure it was a 'he'."

JJ blew out a breath. "Janitor corroborates what Allie said about Annie Bryers' having a meeting last night. She told him it was an old student, coming back to visit. I already have Garcia combing through the connections. But…" JJ didn't have to finish her sentence. It was still a long shot. Annie Bryers would have been in the system for years and years and probably had hundreds of thousands of students go through her classroom.

"Excuse me," Mrs. Baker interrupted. "Can I take my daughter home now?"

"Of course," JJ replied immediately with a warm smile. Allie and her mother stepped between them, the mother wrapping a supporting arm around her daughter as they headed off down the hall. Suddenly, Allie stopped and turned.

"Mr. Castle?"

Castle cocked his head as he stood beside Beckett.

Allie wove her fingers together, then said, "I told myself if I ever got the chance to meet you, I'd give you a hug." She swallowed, obviously trying to keep herself together. "And," her voice cracked, "I could really use a hug."

Emily watched, standing between Beckett and JJ as Castle headed towards the teen. He opened his arms without questions and wrapped her in a hug that Emily could see made the teen relax, even just a bit. The brunette smiled, unable to stop herself from leaning over to the detective and offering a parting shot before following JJ towards her team.

"Now _he's_ a keeper."

* * *

_We did it!_

_I always get so excited when we finish another chapter because it's taking us longer and longer. But this one's over 5000 words, so hopefully that makes up for it a bit. _

_So, cases and relationships and this was supposed to have prompts to it, but for the life of me I can't remember what they are. _

_BUT! One last very important thing. We've been nominated for the Profiler's Choice CM Awards 2010 in Best Crossover. The link is on my profile. So if you're really enjoying this despite our really long update times, please, go and vote. The vote closes November 30th, which is fairly soon. We'd appreciate any support for this, and your vote!_

_Hopefully, you enjoyed! We both hope the time between this and the next chapter won't be too long, but we also both have a lot hitting us right now, so it'll be touch and go. Patience is love, especially since it helps us write better and give you guys better chapters to look forward to. Though, if we do take A MILLION YEARS, poking is still allowed. _**  
**


	7. Actions Versus Words

**Memoir**

**Chapter 6: Actions Versus Words**

Cobalt blue eyes were fixated on the notebook of blank lined paper before him. The clickable blue ballpoint pen clutched between his fingers had not done an ounce of writing that night, but he had not expected it to. Regardless of the ideas and plot bunnies that had multiplied in the writer's mind, he hadn't been able to put a word down on the paper. The mere act of sitting with the pen in his hand was oddly therapeutic. The lure and the seduction of falling into another world was attractive, but not what he was after tonight. He found it easier to think when he held a pen. If something were to flow onto paper because of that, it was an unexpected but appreciated bonus.

He clicked the pen once, twice, but no applicable thoughts came to mind. His mind strained to come up with something – anything – a connection, for her. He needed her to be able to breathe, to think, to sleep. After everything that she'd been through in the past few months, she deserved that at the very least. He wanted, _needed_, to be able to do that for her.

The answer had to be here. Even after she'd pushed him away like she had, Rick was reluctant to back down.

"Dad?"

He lifted blue eyes to his daughter, standing at the edge of the stairs. One hand rested on the wooden banister, the other fallen by her side.

"Alexis." He said, head tilted slightly to the side. His fingers still clutched the pen. "What are you doing up?"

"You're writing." Alexis' voice held a hint of pleasant surprise as she moved from the stairs to come sit on the arm of the couch, next to him. Blue eyes that were a mirror of his landed on the notebook. "Or not. And it's not that late, Dad. It's midnight." She watched her father's face for a second. "Writer's block?"

He ran a hand through his hair, deliberating momentarily. "Wasn't really trying to write." Rick answered finally, placing the pen down on top of the notebook. Then his eyes narrowed. "And what did we say about mentioning writer's block?"

"Dad, the line about not talking about Fight Club, was better _in_ Fight Club," she told him with an affectionate roll of her eyes. Then she sobered. "Something's wrong."

It wasn't a question, and he lifted his eyes to her.

"It's written all over your face." She answered, moving from the arm of the couch to sit next to her father. She leaned her head against his arm. "And you taught me to be observant, remember? Is it Kate?"

He had, and it was, but he wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it with his daughter. "You said you were going to bed." He reminded her, as a futile attempt to change the subject. "Are you alright?"

Alexis sighed suddenly, placing her chin on a fist. "Just high school drama. Things were so much easier in elementary school, you know?"

Rick wrapped an arm around his daughter's shoulders. "Ah, the days when boys had cooties." He teased, smiling when he heard his daughter stifle a laugh. As long as he could still do that, as long as he could still make her laugh, everything was alright, wasn't it?

His mind turned to the body they found, the nearly violent reaction Beckett had to his being near the scene, to having _him_ near the scene. He remembered the way the young teen's face had seemed so hopeless, so _afraid_.

"You look like someone's trying to choke you, Dad. Want to talk about it?" There was a pause before she said, "This case is really affecting Detective Beckett, isn't it?"

Rick was reluctant to tell her even a little, let alone anything, about the case but having seen the bowls of ice cream on the table the other night, Alexis was already privy to knowing it had disturbed Kate. The writer lifted the pen from the notebook and clicked it several times. He hated seeing Kate like that, so out of her element.

"She's shaken up, but we'll catch the guy." He was sure to add that last part in, though he wasn't sure whether it was for his benefit, or his daughter's. "It's hard to write at the moment." He commented when he saw her eyes on the pen.

"But this case gave you an idea for the third Nikki Heat, yes?" She prompted, raising her brow.

He was able to smile, remembering the way that the spark of an idea had felt, burning in his veins. "The serious, single father tortured by a past so recent he can still walk it in his memory and the teammate who wants to help him get through it – but doesn't know what to do with the feelings she's developed. And, of course, the roguishly handsome Rook decides to play matchmaker." His heart always beat faster at the thought of words, ink on paper.

"The Behavioral Analysis Unit?"

Rick nodded and placed the pen back down atop the notebook. "But it's hard to write during this case." He'd said it a million times in hopes that it would make him feel better, that he could feel like he was still giving something to the world, even if he couldn't write at the moment. Like he was still doing something for her.

"I see." She didn't pry, didn't ask questions. "This calls for muffins, then. Come on, get up." She stood and tugged at her father's sleeve.

He stood and somewhat reluctantly followed Alexis into the gigantic kitchen, where she began searching through the lower cabinets and removing various ingredients.

"Banana nut?" Alexis asked but didn't wait for an answer. Rick leaned against a cabinet, watching his daughter work. She was truly everything to him – he could feel the chill in his blood when he considered what must have been that single father's thoughts. He could not fathom leaving Alexis behind, not knowing what would become of her without him.

"Dad? Can I ask you something?"

His mind returned to reality. Alexis had paused and was leaning against the cabinet, blue eyes on him. "You can ask me anything, sweetheart."

"This case isn't like the other cases, is it?"

He took a breath and let it out through his teeth. "This one is more … difficult." He answered carefully. The word 'serial' buzzed on his tongue, leaving a harsh after taste and sense of foreboding. "People are getting tired."

"Detective Beckett is getting tired." Alexis, once again, had not been asking a question. The teenager turned, beginning to mix the batter together – but not before he saw something almost _mischievous _in his daughter's eyes. "Where is she tonight?"

"Where's Beckett?" he parroted.

Alexis nodded without turning around, adding walnuts into the mixture. "She's been here a lot, so I wondered."

"At her apartment, I'd think." Rick answered, but his heart skipped a beat and his stomach churned. He couldn't do anything for her when she was there, couldn't pull her from a nightmare …

"I'll make extra, just in case."

* * *

Kate sat at her desk longer than she should have. At some point, an irritated Jenny had come by to drag Ryan home and even the BAU had called it quits for the night after instructing their tech genius to do some more cross-referencing and searching and digging and _God!_ They had nothing! She wasn't a profiler, but she could tell even the Bureau agents seemed uncomfortable. The Annie Bryers murder had thrown them off. All of them. Big time.

"Oh good, you're here."

Kate looked up at Lanie, unable to stop herself from hoping… "You got something?"

Lanie's steps didn't even falter, even as she raised an eyebrow. "Good to see you too. I'm good, thanks."

Kate sighed and rubbed at her temples, missing the significant look that passed between Lanie and the still-present Esposito. The male detective had refused to leave until his boss did.

Lanie took pity on her best friend. "I do have the autopsy results for the Bryers homicide, but there's nothing in there we don't already know." She plopped down in Castle's chair. "Girl, when was the last time you had a good night's sleep?"

"Does it have to be a full night?" Kate inquired. Her mind flashed to waking up in the Castle loft, the sense of safety, security and the realization that she'd _slept_. She looked over at the ME. "Yesterday." Her brow wrinkled. "I think. What day is it?"

Lanie's jaw dropped open. She closed it a second later with a snap. "I think you just proved my point."

"Lanie, there are families out there. They want answers. I can't fail them."

"You will if you kill yourself in the process. Contrary to what we all like to believe, you're not Superwoman." The ME reached over to take her friend's hand. "You need a break, Honey. And you know it as well as I do."

They _all_ needed a break. Lanie had seen the stress growing in Kate, in the set of her shoulders, the shortness of her temper. Castle's return had lessened the load, but Lanie had it on _very_ good authority that it wasn't enough. In wanting to maintain some of Castle's innocence, Kate was pushing him away. She'd seen it in the detective's face when Kate had stepped into the crime scene.

"What I need to do," Kate's voice broke into Lanie's reverie, "is to get this case closed and off my desk."

"You need to go home," Lanie argued. Then a sly smile slipped over her face. "Or to Castle's."

Kate's eyes widened marginally, but enough that her best friend noticed. The detective looked away.

"Hey." Lanie reached out and rested a hand over Kate's. "It's not against the law to look for comfort, Girl. Especially when it's someone who so obviously cares about you."

"I shouldn't have pulled him into this, Lanie," Kate confided in a low voice. "I'm a cop, I signed up for this. I accepted the badge and the responsibility. I accepted that I was going to see the worst of the worst in terms of the things one human can do to another. He's a writer for God's sake. He's supposed to make this stuff up. Not see it."

"But he does see it. And he sees it because _you_ see it. He jokes and he laughs and he says stupid things because he knows it brightens your day. He makes you laugh because it's how he helps. It's the only way he knows how to help. Because _you_ won't let him find another way."

Kate let out a heavy sigh and shook her head in denial.

And Lanie lost it. Just a little.

"Fine. Then try this: you're afraid to be weak. You're afraid to be broken. Maybe you think it'll scare people away, maybe people will think less of you for it. Maybe you're afraid of falling and never getting back up again." Lanie gripped Kate's hands when the detective went to pull away. "But you've fallen apart before and Writer Boy's seen it. It's not going to scare him away and I _sincerely_ doubt it'll make him think any less of you." She cocked her head to the side. "In fact, I think he would love you a little bit more."

If Kate noticed the deliberate wording, she steadfastly ignored it. "I can't just… show up."

"Oh, Honey, of course you can," Lanie encouraged. "You're not pouring your heart out and you're not moving in together. Everyone needs help and comfort sometimes. It takes a very strong person to ask for it."

"Thanks Lanie," Kate finally said after a moment. "But I think I'm just going to hang around for-"

"Kate Beckett, you listen to me," Lanie hissed, her anger coming through in the low whisper. "I get that this is eatin' at you. You don't wanna take care of yourself, that's all peachy keen for you, but _he_," she jerked her head in Esposito's direction. "ain't goin' home 'til you go."

Kate felt embarrassment flood through her along with a thread of affection. "I guess I could head home. Drown myself in the tub."

"Now there's a better idea," Lanie agreed. She waited until the detective actually shut down her computer and was pulling on her coat before calling out, "Hey Javi. Give a girl a ride home?"

Esposito looked up, worn and exhausted. When he noticed Kate pulling on her coat, his eyes sparked a little. He grinned. "Sure, but you know Beckett doesn't like givin' out her address."

Lanie rolled her eyes as she pushed herself up. "Ha, ha. You think you're so funny." Then she turned serious eyes to Kate, reaching out to run a hand comfortingly down her arm. "Think about what I said, okay? Castle wouldn't think less of you. He would take it at face value and leave it at that."

"Goodnight, Lanie," Kate said forcefully.

Lanie just grinned, then headed over to Esposito. "Bets on where she ends up tonight?" she teased good naturedly as they made sure to watch Kate head for the stairs.

Esposito looked down at her. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"

Lanie snorted in amusement. "Oh, Detective, you really don't want me to answer that."

* * *

Rick couldn't focus.

Since Kate's nightmare in the precinct, he'd been getting more and more worried about her. It was so terribly obvious that she wasn't dealing with the case well. He didn't blame her in the slightest. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing blood painted on the back of his eyelids, and she was stronger than he was. She'd seen worse. Which was why it was so much more terrifying that _she_ was afraid.

He almost jumped when the buzzer sounded, glancing at the clock. It was late, his mother and Alexis long in bed. Great curiosity pulled him to the door and his eyes widened as he identified the woman on the other side.

"Kate." Her first name came out without thinking.

"Hi," she said, her shoulders rising and falling with the inhale of breath.

"Do we have another body?" Rick knew there was apprehension in his voice. He felt himself relax in relief when she shook her head, then his brow wrinkled in confusion. "Is everything okay?"

He knew both by the way she bit her lip and by the way she wouldn't meet his eyes that he was about to be given a piece of the illusive Katherine Beckett.

"I don't… I can't…"

Rick reached out, grasping one of her hands and tugging. Kate stepped closer and he was assaulted with that familiar scent of cherries before he found his arms filled with the one woman who had blindsided him from day one. He wrapped her up against him, honoured and blessed that in her pain and fear, she'd come to him.

He pulled her into the apartment, walking backwards and pushing the door shut. Then he just stood there, feeling her tremble against him, feeling her fingers clutching his shirt. He had no idea how long they stood there, but he refused to let her move until the trembles had lessened. Even then, he merely loosened his hold if she wanted to escape. Much to his surprise, Kate burrowed closer.

It actually hit him then, that this incredibly strong, brave woman was almost breaking before his eyes. They dealt with murder cases, but this was by far the worst, even worse than the Russian mob who had removed a man's internal organs. At least they had been partially prepared and that hadn't been a serial. This was different.

He all but carried her over to the couch. He sat her down, crouching in front of her. "Kate?"

She sucked in a deep breath. "Can I stay here?"

Rick leaned forward, gently pressing his lips to her hair. "You are _always_ welcome here." He flashed her one of his cockiest grins, or the best he could considering how worried he was. "This calls for sundaes."

Kate actually managed a small smile. "Is that the Castle cure-all?"

"Pretty much," he replied, unable to stop himself from brushing his thumb against her cheek. "The works?"

The brunette sniffled and he wanted nothing more than to pull her close. "The works?"

He grinned. "It's a Castle masterpiece." Part of him was inordinately pleased that she actually got up to follow him. She slid onto one of the breakfast stools. "Chocolate, vanilla and cookie dough," Rick said, pulling the containers out of his freezer.

"And strawberry," she said.

He looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. "Alexis," he deduced as he went to another cupboard, pulling out what he and his family called the Super Sundae Bowl. "You don't like strawberries."

Kate looked utterly shocked. "How do you know that?"

"I'm kind of like your profilers," Rick said, then shrugged. "I pay attention." He pulled out Tupperware containers and watched his detective's eyes widen. "The Super Castle Sundae with the Works is an art."

"Apparently," she quipped as she watched with absolute awe. He moved swiftly and efficiently, putting six scoops of ice cream in the bowl and topping it off with chocolate and butterscotch sauce, chocolate chips, candy-coated chocolate chips, nuts, and cherries. It was the biggest sundae she'd seen since childhood. He finished it off with two spoons.

Kate arched an eyebrow. "I didn't know we were sharing."

"As much as I fully encourage sugar comas, we do have to go to work in the morning," he replied, eating a spoonful of the concoction. "Though, if you want to take advantage of me, all you have to do is ask."

She cracked a smile at that. "Maybe another time."

"Why, Detective Beckett, am I wearing you down?"

She rolled her eyes, but he took comfort in her perceived annoyance. They ate in silence for a few moments, clearing the bowl, before Kate spoke. "Hey Rick?"

He ignored the shiver his first name evoked. "Kate."

She slipped the spoon from her mouth, then started moving the left over candy pieces around in the bowl. "We're going to catch this guy, right?"

Rick blinked. He'd never heard such a question, let alone such a vulnerability from the woman across from him. He slipped around the counter, sliding his fingers under her chin until her troubled hazel eyes met his. "We'll find him," he swore. "I promise you."

* * *

It was 3AM.

Emily hated 3AM.

Well, that was a big of an exaggeration. She only hated 3AM when she was working a particularly difficult case. And this was proving to be a _very_ difficult case. The worst part was that they'd been thrown a rather nasty curveball in the form of a sixty-five-year-old public school teacher.

They'd been trying to work her into the puzzle all day, ever since they absorbed, noted and left the crime scene. In some ways, Emily felt bad for Doctor Paris. There was a hell of a lot of blood in that scene and though Emily hadn't shown it, it had been enough to churn even her cast iron stomach. No matter what they did, they couldn't seem to come up with a new theory to adequately explain everything that was going on.

Neither had the resident writer.

Emily had caught on by now. She could see the way Detective Becektt and her team turned to Castle for the absurd. And she could understand why. The brain worked in funny ways and she could tell that Castle's not-always-so-crazy stories had triggered connections in the past. Emily doubted he'd be around otherwise. There was something in the dynamics of that particular team that spoke of a genuine affection for the writer, even as Detective Beckett fought to keep him at arm's length.

It was a surprisingly familiar scenario.

Aware that she'd let her brain wander and acknowledging that she needed a break, Emily pushed herself off the bed with a heavy sigh. She splashed water on her face in the bathroom and secured her hair in a ponytail before deciding on searching down some sort of snack.

She had a hankering for peanuts.

Sliding her feet into the slippers she always packed – JJ's fault because the blond always packed a pair of her own – Emily snatched up her hotel room key and a couple of bills before venturing down to the lobby. The hotel was surprisingly silent. After all, this was New York City and Emily had expected there to be at least a handful of people stumbling back after late night partying. But the only person in the lobby was a dark-haired man Emily recognized all too well. She padded over, recognizing the case file in front of Hotch immediately.

"You know, when you tell us to get some sleep we expect you to follow your own orders."

He glanced up to acknowledge her, then back down at the file. The old Emily would have felt the sting of rejection at how easily he seemed to shrug her off, but that was the Emily from before his divorce, before Foyet, before she realized that staying late in the office with him was less about proving she was good enough and more about making sure he wasn't lonely. A friendship had developed after that predicated on Emily's stubborn determination and Hotch's deeply buried need for friendship and companionship. This wouldn't be the first time they looked over case notes at a stupid hour of the morning.

And that was how it had started.

So neither of them felt anything but a comforting sense of normalcy when Emily plopped down beside him, pyjamas, fuzzy slippers and all.

"You're not sleeping either," he pointed out as he shuffled pages and pictures around.

"Chocolate," she shot back. "And I wasn't sleeping anyway."

She didn't have to explain further. Cases made more than one of their team members an insomniac.

"Find something?" he asked. Sometimes it was scary how well they knew each other. Of course Hotch would know that she had been looking over the case since she couldn't sleep.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Nothing useful. Nothing we don't already know."

"This is intensely personal," Hotch murmured and Emily vaguely wondered if he'd even heard her. "He deliberately chose each of his victims for a very specific reason."

"Why?" Emily asked, her head rolling across the back of the couch to pillow on his shoulder. It wasn't that she didn't want to know, really. It was more that she knew her brain wasn't functioning anywhere near where it needed to be to make sense of and deal with the information he was trying to tease out. Between that and the lulling comfort of having him near – which was a quirk she'd continually ignored since discovering it – was making her drowsy.

"Personal vendetta," he replied with strong conviction. "Something these people did, something they said."

"The Loser in High School Theory?" Emily questioned, eyes fluttering open to look at his files. God, for someone so strict, his case notes were always disorganized. She resisted the itch to go get her own. "We're still merely narrowed down to the class. And even then, maybe it's a loser from another year."

He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging her head. She growled at him. He glared back.

She rolled her eyes. "What if the significance isn't in the victims then? We've started with victimology and that didn't help. So what if it's something else?"

"Like the method of death," he murmured. "His MO includes more than just his victim choices-"

"-it includes the _how_."

They grinned at each other – Emily tried to pretend that his dimples weren't actually that adorable – and Hotch reached over to the table, pulling out the crime scene photos. He spread them out on the table, all four of their victims, all of the face on crime scene photos.

"So why this particular method?" Emily murmured, leaning forward over the photos.

Hotch's shoulder brushed against hers. "He's spilled their guts."

"Garcia didn't find anything truly secret-worthy when she went through their backgrounds," she pointed out. She was running on adrenaline but the adrenaline of a lead. It had been a kick for her mind.

"There are plenty of secrets to keep that aren't written down anywhere," he replied. "Things brushed under the rug, never mentioned, paid in cash…"

"And you're the expert," she murmured though her heart tripped too. "But _anything_ odd… Garcia would have picked up on it."

"She is still looking," he responded, shifting the pages around in front of them, trying to get a feel. "This kind of violence… It has to be significant."

"Hate," Emily blurted suddenly, eyes going very wide.

Hotch looked over at her in anxious confusion.

Emily was all but bouncing in her seat. "It's not about spilling their guts, it's about _hating_ their guts."

* * *

_Yeesh! You know how so many authors are talking about how they've had to battle with chapters recently? This is honest to goodness no different. We had the longest fight with this bloody thing. _

_To that end, no, and I can't repeat 'no' enough, we're not letting this go, and we haven't forgotten it. We're looking at two schedules that are often incompatible so it takes a bit more time than usual to get chapters up. That, and it's March, and I know for most college and university students (of which SSW and I both rank) it's like the month from hell. Or the month before the month from hell. _

_As usual, we as for your strongest exercise in patience so we can give you the best chapters we feel like we can. _

_The reviews are pretty cool too._

_PS: for those of you who voted for this story months ago in the Profiler Awards... you guys won us Best Crossover! So we thank you and we love you and we are so endlessly glad that you're enjoying this enough, despite the long updates, to not only nominate us, but to help this baby win!_


	8. In the Public Eye

**Memoir**

**Chapter 7: In the Public Eye**

As a general rule, JJ wasn't really superstitious. It wasn't about having irrational fears; it was the whole 'step on a crack'-'black cat'-'walking under a ladder' thing that she didn't believe in. But she wasn't an idiot. So when she woke with a disgusting feeling of dread in her stomach, she was immediately on edge. These feelings didn't come often, but her history with the BAU told her it would be stupid to ignore them.

So, despite the fact that Emily would probably strangle her – sleep was a precious commodity on cases, especially for people like Emily, who couldn't shut her brain down at the best of times – JJ knew she needed to tell someone, talk to someone. She made quick work of getting ready for the day and headed for Emily's room.

JJ and Emily were much closer than JJ and Elle had ever been; too much time together had seen to that. But, more importantly, Emily didn't hesitate to care. JJ appreciated that and appreciated having someone to talk to who she knew wouldn't judge. Like moments like this. There was no reason for JJ to seriously believe her gut, but Emily would listen, would let JJ rant and regardless of whether Emily said anything to calm her down, JJ would feel better simply for having an ear to listen. It didn't make JJ any weaker than the profilers, but it was a slightly different dynamic.

But when JJ knocked on Emily's door, there was no answer. It was more confusing than concerning – after all, they'd already established that their UNSUB had a very specific target of people – and JJ tried Emily's phone next. When the dark-haired woman didn't answer, JJ went looking. What she found was something she had not anticipated.

When she first stepped into the hotel lobby, it was to ask the front desk if they'd seen Emily. Before she could, she caught sight of two very familiar bodies, dead asleep. JJ was surprised, to be honest, that the movements of the lobby hadn't woken either of them. Even more shocking, however, was the way they were intertwined on the small sofa. Emily's head rested on Hotch's shoulder, her hand balled in his very wrinkled dress shirt. Hotch, more surprisingly, had an arm wrapped around Emily's back, his hand splayed wide, almost possessively, on Emily's hip.

As she got closer, JJ shook her head affectionately at the files spread out in front of them. Quite obviously, they'd been working late, and JJ found herself wondering if all of the times she'd left Emily and Hotch in the office, it was less about work and more about… Well, there had to be an explanation for why they seemed so comfortable sleeping in such close quarters, right? Still, she knew they couldn't be caught like this, let alone the files spread everywhere so she didn't bother to be quiet as she shuffled pictures and notes into their respective files. She even, less than accidentally, kicked Emily in the process. The agent jerked awake, and JJ bit down, hard, on her lower lip to keep the laughter at bay. Especially since Emily's jolt had rammed her elbow into Hotch's kidney.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully, choosing to simply keep filing things away. They didn't need her watching, at least not at the moment.

Because JJ couldn't fault them for finding comfort in each other. They worked a stressful job, and as much of a cliché as that was, it was also the bare bones truth.

"Morning, Jayje," Emily greeted, watching the blond pack up files. Had they really fallen asleep together? In the lobby of the hotel they stayed in? In New York? Good gracious, they were losing it. And now JJ had caught them. Thank God it had been JJ and not someone like Morgan.

JJ couldn't help herself. "Sleep well?" She finally faced them and bit her cheek, hard, against the smile that wanted to bloom. She had no idea Hotch's cheeks could turn that colour.

Emily's eyes narrowed. "Yes, thanks."

JJ knew a rebuke from her friend when she heard it. Still, she was highly amused by the development. "Excellent." Then her stomach churned. She grimaced. Emily looked immediately worried.

Hotch, intuitive as he was in combination with too long on the job, seemed to take that as his cue. With a curt nod of acknowledgement he headed off. Both women waited until he was out of sight before speaking.

"What's wrong?"

"It's about time!"

Emily's eyes widened. "What?"

JJ latched on, both because she wasn't sure she wanted to talk about the dread in her stomach and because this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. "You're kidding, right? You want me to stand here and pretend that you falling asleep on Hotch's shoulder doesn't mean a damned thing?"

"Um… Yes? Because it doesn't?"

JJ just barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Usually, I would believe you." But she needed a break, something to deal with the dread and something to distract them both from the brutality they'd been facing. Well, that and it was too good of an opportunity for her to pass up. The team, Emily and Penelope specifically, had given her hell over hiding her relationship with Will, after all. This was just a sort of… payback.

"We're not…" Emily sighed, "We're friends. That's all."

Emily's tone made JJ reconsider her plan of attack. She softened immediately. "Is that all you want?"

The question was met with another sigh, this one much heavier. "I don't know," Emily admitted. "I don't want to push him, you know?" Both women were talking in low voices as they organized the files. "Between the divorce and Jack and Foyet…That's a lot to handle."

JJ considered her next move carefully. "You know," she said, all feigned nonchalance. "Maybe he's handling it because of you."

"What?"

"Well, think about it," JJ said, straightening. "This is _Hotch_ we're talking about. He's cranky. We also know his family means everything to him."

Emily waited.

"I just think that he could be a lot worse," JJ shrugged. "I've seen him be a lot worse. So why is he not reacting the same way?"

"You think it's because of me."

"I think it's not a far stretch to say that you've managed to find some way to balance him," the blond replied diplomatically. "Plus, remember New Years? Remind me again which one of us that convinced Hotch a party wasn't a bad thing?"

Emily blushed slightly. "That was different. He _never_ takes a break."

"I won't argue the obvious," JJ said with a little laugh. "And I'm not saying you should… jump his bones. But… if something did happen in your off hours, it would be none of our business."

"Joyje, there are fraternization policies and-" Emily argued.

"And it would be none of our business." She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Em, you know this team. If you're both happy do you think we're going to say a word to anyone?" She pushed on when Emily went to protest. "And it's a bit hypocritical, don't you think? You've been subtly pushing Detective Beckett and her shadow, dropping hints at how good it is that they have each other, but you're not willing to take the risk yourself."

"There's extenuating circumstances," Emily argued. "Like his son. Like Foyet."

"Foyet's dead."

"But he's not gone."

JJ was surprised at both the naked honesty and undertone of vulnerability in Emily's voice but kept her mouth shut as the brunette ran a hand through her hair. "He's haunted by it, JJ. He… He won't let himself open up. He won't let himself get to a point where family can be taken away again, where things he loves…"

And yet, JJ could tell that it didn't stop Emily. The woman had a poker face that would make professionals flinch, but they were also close friends. _Very_ close friends. Not only did JJ know that was as good of a confession as she was getting out of Emily for the time being, but it was enough.

"You're not Haley," JJ said quietly, strongly. "You can take care of yourself. He doesn't have to hide those fears from you." She shrugged, sliding the last page back into its file. "Maybe it's time you showed him that."

* * *

Rick woke to a tired ache that spread through his body and sunlight that streamed through the window. He couldn't help but admit to himself that during this case, it was easier to sleep when he knew she was sleeping too – and not on the precinct's couch, either. Still, the case was draining all of them. He didn't think any amount of sleep would help any of them until this guy was caught and locked away. Rick's eyes found the clock. It was only half past six. Alexis should only just be waking up.

The house was silent as he pulled on his clothes, scrubbing at his face until he looked presentable. Pausing at Alexis' door, he noticed that his daughter's bed was already made and her bag was gone from its place next to her desk.

He'd known the house was too silent.

Descending the stairs only brought more of the same. He'd almost become used to Kate's habit of cooking breakfast whenever she slept here. Disappointment rang sharp in his stomach as he realized he'd been expecting her to still be there. Rick tapped his fingers against the counter and leaned against it. If he'd woken up a bit earlier, he could have stopped her from rushing in. with the way she'd sounded last night, he was hoping she would stay for breakfast, that maybe he could hold the day at arm's length for twenty more minutes.

He swallowed, eyes falling to a note that looked like it was in her handwriting.

_Got an early start. Didn't want to wake you. _

_Alexis was getting ready to go in early. I hope you don't mind, I took her into school instead of having her catch a ride. Was heading that way anyway. _

_I'll be at the precinct when you're ready to head in. Will call if anything changes. _

_Kate_

Rick sighed, watching the note as if it would change something. If she'd brought in Alexis to school for early period, then she couldn't have left more than forty five minutes ago. He'd missed her by that much. Grinding his teeth, Rick looked through the fridge for a moment before finding he wasn't hungry. The bowls from the muffins he'd made with Alexis and the ice cream he'd shared with Kate last night were still in the sink.

He left them there.

After quickly checking his cell to make sure Kate hadn't called with a new body, Rick headed for the door with plans to grab her a coffee and a bear claw at a nearby bakery – plans that were changed as soon as he stepped outside.

It was like being blinded.

"Richard Castle, can you tell us about your budding romance with Nikki Heat inspiration Kate Beckett, detective on the string of seemingly related murders in our city?" One of the women holding a microphone at him buzzed, blue eyes wide with excitement.

"There's no romance between Detective Beckett and myself." He said, and thought he could see the spark of anger in the woman's blue eyes. He hadn't answered the question the way she'd wanted him to. "We're partners. We're friends. That's all."

There had only been one or two times a reporter had dared to harass him in front of his house. The last time it had happened, it was a slightly insane Derrick Storm fan who hadn't been a fan of his decisions to end the series.

He'd battled reporters before. With the fame that his writing had brought him, and the added fame that had come with the Nikki Heat stories, he'd had to learn quickly to deal with unwanted (and sometimes wanted) attention.

And as much as he wanted to – as much as he wished he could say in every honest sense of the words that he and Detective Katherine Beckett were seeing each other – as much as he wanted it to be true, he couldn't say it even if it was.

"Is it true she's been staying here nightly?" A woman who pushed through the five or six reporters asked, holding out another microphone. "Can you verify that?"

Rick was tired. He wasn't in the mood for answering their questions even if he'd had something to say to them. He wanted to get to the precinct, not deal with reporters that weren't even asking questions that pertained to the case.

"I have no comment," He said, trying to make his way towards the car.

Another reporter, this one a man, hovered on Rick's other side. "Can we get a comment from the woman herself?"

And something inside him snapped. Something that had, perhaps, been holding on by a thread.

"Kate-" The name slipped from his mouth without his noticing, "-is the lead Detective on an ongoing case. Bothering her for something as trivial as this would be a foolish mistake." He swallowed after the words left his mouth, wishing he could take them back and think over his answer.

"You seem to be protective over her," The blue eyed woman asked again. Rick's eyes flew to her. "Are you sure you're not seeing each other?"

"If by _seeing_," He practically growled, "You mean working together to catch a killer? That _is_ what we do."

"Come on, Mister Castle," another reporter cajoled. "You know exactly what we're asking."

Rick spun. "Look, harassing me is one thing. I asked for it. Leave her out of this unless it's related to the case or I swear to God, you'll never get another word from me. _Ever_."

He knew there was going to be damage control to be done for losing his temper, both with Kate and the FBI. He could feel it in his stomach as he shoved past them and made his way towards his car, ignoring the questions that they called after him.

The coffee and bear claw were long forgotten.

* * *

"We might have another lead."

Every head in the conference room shot up at Emily's carefully worded phrase. They'd been taking five freaking minutes to eat before Emily had spoken. Not that anyone blamed her. Any lead was, admittedly, a high point.

"Hotch and I were looking over the pictures last night," she went on, wiping her mouth with her nearby napkin. "And we think we may have a lead on his motive."

"Other than he's crazy?" Detective Esposito asked, light enough to get a couple of lip-twitches. The mood in the room was surprisingly dark, even for the subject matter. Castle wasn't cracking his usual one-liners that Emily had come to expect. Beckett, though slightly more refreshed, was picking at her bagel more than eating it and even Reid looked seconds from face-planting in his breakfast. God, they needed this case done weeks ago.

She darted a glance to Hotch who nodded once, quickly. She could take point. "We already know the pictures show a violence streak and a dangerous one. Initially we'd thought it was spilling their guts."

"Poetic," Castle spoke up. Beckett hit him for the interruption and Emily watched a corner of his mouth twitch up. Something was, apparently, at least close to normal with them. Could they be more obvious?

"But," Emily allowed, "we haven't been able to do much with that."

Beckett's eyes went wide. "He _hates_ their guts."

Emily couldn't stop the grin. _This_ was why she liked the detective so much. Half of the work was done before it even came out of the mouths of the FBI. Sometimes she wondered if they really needed the BAU to be here when they had whip-smart detectives. Of course, it was usually squashed when Emily considered the BAU's specialized training and the added resources of having them around.

"That's what we're thinking," Emily agreed with a nod.

JJ swallowed thickly. Her adrenaline was pumping, both because she knew she had a press conference in an hour – and she was crossing her fingers it was a smooth one – and because the thrill of a new lead was like icing on a cupcake. "Have you called Garcia?"

"By the time we put it together we figured it was too late." Because despite the fact that Garcia was an insomniac, Emily often held off from adding to the tech's ever-growing work when it was late. Now, however, there was no excuse.

"Good morning Superheroes!" Garcia's cheerful voice floated over the line. "Welcome to another edition of Cross-Reference Mania! Our first contestant-"

"Garcia," Morgan interrupted before she could really get going. "We may have something."

"Intrigue. I'm a fan. What's up?"

"Can you get us a list of people from that class? Phone numbers, addresses, everything?" Emily asked.

Garcia's whistle came loud over the line. "That's a lotta names."

"Yeah, well one of them had to know our UNSUB," Emily replied as Garcia's fingers clicked away. "Someone was his friend or at least knew who he was, and, more importantly, that he hated our victims."

"Mmm, backdoor entrance, sneaky," Garcia responded, with enough of a drawl to her tone that the room knew she was half listening, but mostly working.

"Send it to the NYPD addresses too, Garcia," Hotch said. "We'll divide and conquer."

"Boss Man! Modern reference! I'm impressed." Before Hotch could even scowl, she was barreling on. "Phone numbers and addresses on their way now, as is the collection of information I could gather on our victims. Including a rather friendly yearbook photo of Miss Annie Bryers along with our now-deceased victims."

"Favourite teacher?" Morgan asked.

"Can't think of another reason you'd take a picture with a teacher," Garcia responded. "You know where I am if you need me!"

"Thanks, Garcia," Emily managed to get in before the click.

Hotch seamlessly took control. "JJ, Rossi and I will handle the press conference with you. The rest of you, divide those names."

There was a flurry of movement as every one packed up food and coffee before heading out of the room. But there was no excited chatter, barely even a smile, and a lot of heavy shoulders. Emily watched Castle gently grip Beckett's elbow as he all but escorted her out of the room a smile flitting over the corners of her mouth.

"What is it?"

She glanced at Hotch briefly. Personal discussions were still a massive grey area when they were on the job. It had been just under a year since Foyet had stolen Haley and in many ways, Hotch was still trying to battle it out alone. What Emily was thinking was definitely reflective of his own life.

"Prentiss?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes when she spoke, focusing instead on the files and papers in front of her. "I was just thinking about how lucky Detective Beckett is to have Castle around."

"Oh?"

"This is breaking Detective Beckett," Emily said quietly. "We have no leads with this new body, most of our own leads went out the window and we have families that need, want and deserve answers." She shrugged slightly. "He's been good for her." She continued to search through the files, unwilling to meet his eyes or to even glance at him.

He waited a few moments before saying, "She's not alone."

Emily nodded once, shortly. "Exactly."

There was another moment of silence. "He's in love with her."

"She's in love with him," Emily related with a snort of amusement. "Or at least very deep in like."

For the third time, they lapsed into silence. Again, he was the one to break it.

"I know I'm not alone," Hotch said quietly.

Emily's head shot up. "Hotch, I wasn't –"

He shook his head, stalling her. "It's okay."

"Look," she said, ignoring how easy he was about to let her off the hook. "We… We're used to seeing this stuff. But regular officers aren't. So, Detective Beckett, no matter how strong she is, is lucky to have Castle around." She shrugged. "That's all I wanted to say."

Hotch watched her leave, settle in beside Reid at the spare desk across from Beckett and felt something lift in his chest. She cared so much for everyone around her and to Hotch, subordinate or not, it was difficult not to feel a warmth in his chest. Hotch knew she took care of him, watched out for him, made sure he was eating, taking a break. And, more importantly, he knew that it was a heavy burden. He wasn't an easy man and yet, he couldn't shake Emily.

He wondered, just for a split second, if he even wanted to.

* * *

JJ was a pro at handling the press. So when she'd seen that morning's favourite soundbite – Castle snapping at the press and shifting the attention away from the case and towards the non-relationship – she'd known it was going to take some of her best skills. She was expecting it before she stepped behind the podium, eyes towards the camera, hair pulled back in a bun and crowd anxious before her. Nothing could have prepared her for just how bad it would get.

"Is the FBI certain there's a serial killer in New York City? Are there any leads?"

"We're working several leads," JJ said, fingers resting lightly on the podium, trying to appear relaxed and professional at the same time. Security was what she needed to bring to the city today. Security and answers she knew they didn't have yet. "At this point in the investigation, the FBI and NYPD are calling our Unknown Subject a serial killer due to the amount of victims and pattern."

There were days when she loved her job – she was a natural at it, the push and pull of controlling a crowd hungry for information. She wasn't a profiler. JJ couldn't tell what the twitch of an eye meant in an interrogation, but she knew people as well as her team did – in a different way.

And then there were days that she hated her job, days when she couldn't control the push and pull of a crowd and it became an entity unto itself. It was growing now, everyone with a hand up at once. Nobody showed remorse. It was all about the story, but with the viciousness of these killings, she'd held out hope that _something_ would be different.

There was a familiar hand in the crowd, a face she knew from the last time they'd done a case in New York City. She nodded towards the reporter.

"How can the people of New York keep safe?"

"All the regular rules apply," She said, grateful for a question she'd actually prepared herself for despite the agitated state of the crowd. "Don't walk alone, walk with people you know. If you think you see something suspicious, there's a hotline you can call."

The next question she accepted came from a new reporter, whose voice was a bit too loud and eyes a bit too vibrant.

"Has the FBI come here to take the case from NYPD?"

Ah. That question was a familiar one. It wasn't a press conference without those familiar words. The reputation that the FBI had gave them problems wherever they went.

"No," She told him. "The Behavioral Analysis Unit is here to assist the NYPD, not take the credit from the brilliant detectives we are working with. Our job is to help them catch their Unknown Subject, or UNSUB, as quickly as possible."

She could see just how hard Detective Beckett was working to keep herself sane during this case. Most homicide detectives never saw a serial killer in their careers. Beckett was dealing with one of the most violent, vicious men JJ had ever seen. There was no need to be a profiler to see that their UNSUB was harboring a lot of anger – and that it was taking a toll on everyone involved.

JJ also didn't need to be a profiler to see how good Richard Castle was for the NYPD detective. When he was around, she smiled. During this case, that was a good thing – and practically all they could ask for. JJ had learned over the years that when somebody made you smile even though you were faced with something so vile most people would run away screaming, you held on to that. You didn't let it go for anything.

"Can you tell us about Detective Beckett, the lead detective on this case?"

She hated questions like this, even though she'd dealt with them before. It always felt wrong to talk about one of the detectives they were working with when they weren't there, but she knew there was no way to back out of a question without making it look as though something were wrong.

"She's an extremely competent detective," She began. "The work that she and the rest of the detectives at the 12th precinct have done has helped along this case immensely."

It was easy to respect Detective Beckett, whose tenacity allowed her to hold her own even though this was a situation most homicide detectives never encountered in their careers. Serial killers were one thing, but this UNSUB was unlike anything they'd seen before. For Detective Beckett to be holding strong … JJ knew it had to be thanks at least in part to Richard Castle. Whenever JJ had seen her laugh or smile, it had always been around him.

But unlike Emily, JJ saw something else. She saw that the same thing was happening for one of her best friends and Hotch. And, honestly? Even though they were the two singular most stubborn people JJ had met, she was still surprised that they had taken this long. Not that what she'd seen between them earlier that morning amounted to either of them admitting anything, but it was a start. Even though they had obstacles to overcome that were bigger than any she and Will had ever had to look at, JJ thought they were sweet. She could see it. And Jack seemed to like her, which JJ knew was important just from being a mother. It was always Emily that Jack ran to first when he came into the office.

Maybe, she thought, their team was going to be alright after all, despite the year they'd been through.

"What about her relationship with Richard Castle?"

And that was the question she'd been expecting, right from the beginning. She'd been warned, by both Castle and Beckett that there was likely to be questions. And, of course, she'd heard about Castle's outburst that morning. Hell, she'd watched it, just to make sure she knew what was coming.

"He continues to consult on the case, as I understand he has done for the last few years," JJ replied carefully.

"She was seen coming out of his building this morning, can you comment?"

JJ felt her temper rise. It was a side-effect of dealing with these types of people and the fact that even their leads seemed tied in knots. They were stressed, tired, the usual mantra and collection of issues that made tempers short. She allowed herself one squeeze of the podium. "I am not here to play gossip," she replied, face solemn, voice stern. "Anything that is happening between Detective Beckett and Richard Castle is none of my concern."

"Come on, Agent Jareau. It's the perfect spin on this story."

"A serial killer should be 'spin' enough," she snapped back. "There is someone out there killing people. That's where your focus should be, not on prying into the private lives of the people who have to face it."

She saw a twitch out of the corner of her eye and knew it was Hotch. She took a very long, slow breath. It would do them no good if she lost her temper too. "So, if there are any questions pertaining _to the case_ I would be happy to answer them. The nature of the relationship between Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle is their business, not ours and as such as no baring on the work we're doing."

"He's a celebrity," a reporter called out. "The public wants to know."

_Yeah, and I want to know if any of you have a brain cell that's worth this discussion_, JJ thought to herself. "Then the public can ask his representatives for comment."

"But you're taking advantage of it," someone else called out. "Aren't you? The case is getting so much attention because Richard Castle and his muse are working it."

Oh. Oh, no. Seriously? JJ reached down and pinched her thigh. "Considering the violent nature of these crimes I find that extremely hard to believe. This case is getting attention because people are _dying_. Violently. Brutally. And with no respect to them as people. The increasing violence tells us that he's devolving." JJ sucked in a breath, because though she usually wasn't one for scare tactics and it was likely she was going to be in the hotseat for this, she needed the attention on the case. "Serial killers that devolve aren't as focused on their mission and their motive."

"You're saying he could go on a rampage."

"I'm saying that it is imperative that we find and arrest him before he kills again." But then Emily was stepping up behind her and JJ knew it was too late.

He'd killed again.

* * *

_I don't think we have to explain how late this is to you? We, as always, love that you guys are being so patient with us while we work through this. _

_Thanks for reading!_


	9. Innocence

**Memoir**

**Chapter 8: Innocence**

Rick was silent as he climbed into the cruiser with her, something Kate was fairly glad for. She was _pissed_. Agent Jareau had shown her the clip and she'd seen the defensiveness and anger. She'd felt bad, for a few minutes, for what he had to endure sometimes and for the short fuse the case had forced upon all of them.

But that didn't excuse the way he'd let himself get wrapped up in it. He was supposed to be able to put on that playboy face for the cameras, not the cranky, tired and beyond irritable man little sleep and too much stress made him.

But he wasn't a silent person by nature. He was used to expressing himself in whatever way he wanted, however he wanted. Sure, he was scrutinized from time to time, and he played his assigned role to the hilt, but he hadn't been able to do it. Her pain, her tears, had been haunting the pictures he kept of her in his mind and he hadn't been able to shake it.

He'd planned on giving her time to cool down, but he couldn't hold himself back.

"I'm sorry."

She shot him a glare. "For what?"

"This morning. The press. They ambushed me."

"I don't care if they hammered on your door for six hours. You screwed up," she snapped.

He knew that. He really knew that. And he felt crappy about it. He hadn't wanted to make things difficult, hadn't wanted to throw another wrench into the plans. He was tired, he was mentally exhausted and he was sick of seeing the same things in her. "I wanted them to leave you alone."

"I can deal with reporters, Castle. It's part of my job."

"You can tell them _no comment_. Can you handle them asking about us?"

"There is no 'us'," she told him forcefully. But even she knew that was a lie. Even she knew there was something there. Now, she didn't go to just anyone for comfort, didn't seek someone else out. Usually it was the other way around. He'd forced himself in, he'd fought every inch of her walls until he found the weak spot. Now she needed him.

"Kate, there's nothing I can do," Rick said helplessly. "I reacted. Okay, maybe I didn't handle it right, and I'm sorry if it makes Agent Jareau's job more difficult. But Kate…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Do you know how hard it is to see you as vulnerable as you were when you stopped by my house a couple of nights ago?"

She kept her eyes resolutely focused on the road. Moments like this, sentences like his, were exactly the things that had worn down her walls.

"I just… I didn't want them bothering you, okay? This case… It already sucks."

And that was the biggest understatement. Kate closed her eyes, then opened them and faced him at a red light. He deserved… something. She'd been hard on him, she knew that. Maybe too hard. And now she felt guilty for it. "But you didn't make it easier," she responded quietly. "Now JJ has to run interference for a celebrity and I have to try and figure out what's going on between us under a microscope."

"I get that, and I've already – Wait, what?"

Kate slammed her eyes closed. She'd said _exactly_ what she hadn't wanted to just to soothe his injured pride and her damned conscience. "Castle, just –"

But his hand reached out to rest over hers. "Just… tell me you said it," he almost begged, and the hope in his eyes set her heart pattering.

She was back against that metaphorical wall. "Look," she began. "There… have been some shifts in the last few weeks," she finally admitted, sucking in a breath. "I missed you. And when you came back and we were already knee-deep in the case… I was glad you were back. Since then, there's been something different. I don't know what it is and I don't know what I want to do, but I didn't want to do it with the press shadowing my every move."

The mood swing didn't surprise Rick. He'd been dealing with them since his return and really, he would take it in stride if she was going to admit something like how much he was coming to mean. Hell, he'd move heaven and earth if it meant she'd allude to something more than partners between them again. He squeezed her hand, then dropped it as the light turned green. "I am sorry."

"I know. Just… I need you to listen to me on this one, okay? I need you to let me do my job, which means getting you home to your daughter in the same way you left the house. This… This is the worst we've ever dealt with. You're not a cop, Rick. You're not trained for this and you shouldn't have to see it. Partner or not. You didn't sign up to see this kind of stuff."

He wanted to argue. He wanted to make her see that by nature of being her partner, by nature of how much he cared for her, how much she meant, he _needed_ to be right beside her, for every second. He needed to keep her sane, if only for his own sanity. Yet she looked so worried and as much as he'd do anything to stay by her side, he was also ready to sacrifice both of his hands for her peace of mind.

It wasn't until they reached the flashing lights of the crime scene and Kate cut the engine that he turned to her.

"I can only promise to try," he said seriously. "I can't just sit idly by, Kate. I won't."

Kate wasn't sure they were listening to each other and sighed. "I need you to stay out here."

"Kate-"

She held up a hand. His mouth snapped shut.

"You're not up for this. No one's up for this. _I'm _not up for this."

And that was an admission that jolted his entire being.

"I need you to stay out here. I need to believe that I'm protecting you from this. You're a writer, Rick. You can only imagine the kind of things we face. The pictures have absolutely nothing on actually seeing the scene. So _please_. Stay out of the house."

He wanted to follow her. She could tell. But after searching her face in the blue and white lights he finally nodded.

She echoed his nod. Once. "If you want to help out, check with the techs. See if there's anything you can do out here. Okay?"

It was the best compromise she was willing to give, and he recognized it as the best one he was going to get. Still, Rick reached out for her. "Kate-"

She offered him a shy, vulnerable smile. "I know where you are," she promised. Then she looked back out the windshield. "And there's a selfish part of me that's glad you are."

Then she was gone before he could even process the admission, let alone formulate an adequate reply. So he stayed, looking at her empty seat until a knock on the window startled him. He rolled it down to fix Esposito with an arched eyebrow.

"You comin'?" the Hispanic detective asked.

Rick, for more than a moment, thought about it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd told her he was staying, then gone against her wishes. Then, remembering the look on Kate's face when she'd asked him to stay safe, to stay away from this, he shook his head. "Nah, Man. Not this time."

Realization sparked over Esposito's face before he nodded slowly.

Still, Rick couldn't help himself. "If she-"

Esposito's nod increased speed before Rick had even voiced his request. Still, the detective regarded him critically. "This is her job, Castle."

"From what I hear, Esposito, this shouldn't be anyone's job."

It was the right thing to stay because Esposito offered him a ghost of a smile before following Ryan up to the house. It left Rick alone in Kate's cruiser trying to reconcile doing what was right with feeling on the outside.

* * *

The scent of death was one the BAU was intimately familiar with. But it never ceased to turn them even a little green. Sometimes, Emily appreciated the reaction, if only to prove she still found all of this death and gore disgusting. It kept her human. It kept them human.

The tangy copper smell came first, the second she stepped into the house. Dave shot her a look, but paused beside her, understanding passing between them in a glance. The scenes they saw were never pretty ones. Even Beckett turned slightly green. Ryan actually held a hand to his mouth briefly.

"Castle's going to stay outside," Esposito informed them as he stepped in behind his partner.

Emily wondered if anyone else saw Beckett's relief.

She didn't have time to dwell on it though. Hotch led the way up the stairs. The smell grew stronger as they climbed, the reason obvious as they hit the top. Bloody footprints trailed from an open door to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

"Sloppy," Hotch murmured.

_Dangerous_, Emily translated. A devolving serial killer was never encouraging. And neither was the gore of the master bedroom. Emily dodged a tech that couldn't take the blood and snapped on latex gloves.

"Didn't even have to pose him this time," Dave said as he, Hotch and Emily lined up across the bed from Doctor Parish.

"Bryce Moran," the ME introduced, voice serious and clipped. "COD's pretty obvious."

"TOD?" Beckett asked quietly.

"Liver temp says about six hours," Parish answered. "But you know the drill."

So did the BAU. The ME would have more after she got their victim back to the lab.

"Oh God!"

The exclamation had every trained officer reaching for weapons out of reflex.

"Jesus," Esposito breathed as the reason for the tech's exclamation came into view. At the bottom of the closet in the master huddled a little boy and a little girl, both bloody.

Oh God.

The little girl whimpered and huddled tighter into her brother's side. The tech moved first, reaching in. The little girl screamed loud enough to have some of the officers plugging their ears. Emily looked to Beckett, meeting her eyes. The detective shook her head. Not Castle. Not like this. Not this scene. Not unless they had to. And maybe that wouldn't be enough to sway Beckett. Emily couldn't blame her. She'd seen the colour drain from Hotch's cheeks as well when he realized exactly who was in the closet.

When it involved kids, it always sucked.

. . . . .

Kate stuck to her guns about keeping Castle out for another forty-five minutes. No one seemed to be able to budge them and almost everyone had tried. Even Kate had attempted to lure them out. But beyond actually yanking them forcibly from their cubby and risking hearing loss or injury, they were out of ideas.

Almost.

But their only remaining option was the one Kate had been hoping to avoid.

Kate didn't want to bring Castle into the house. She _really_ didn't want to. After working so hard to keep him away from this kind of death, his presence had thrust him into a role she'd tried to shelter him from. But even she knew she didn't have much of a choice. They all had jobs to do and since the little girl wasn't responding to anyone else, Castle really was their last hope.

She stepped out into the night, into the flashing lights. It didn't take her long to spot him, if only because he started weaving his way towards her the minute he set eyes on her. Hell, the minute she'd opened the door.

"What is it?" he asked.

Kate ran a hand through her hair. "There's a little girl and her brother inside."

Despite the darkness, she saw his chest hitch. "_Kids_?"

"They're not dead, Castle," she said immediately. "They're not the victims."

"Mom?"

"No."

His chest hitched again. "Dad."

Since it wasn't a question, Kate didn't acknowledge it. "We can't get them out of the closet for _anything_."

"Where's the scene? Where are the kids?"

"Dad's bedroom."

Castle swallowed, and in that split second Kate knew he understood.

"Look," she began, "I wouldn't be out here if we didn't need you. No one can get them out. No one can keep an eye on them. We barely have enough cops to feel like we can do a thorough job of the scene let alone a couple of them to babysit." She didn't have to tell him anymore. Yet, she looked down at her feet, then resolutely back up at him. "This is why I didn't want you here."

There wasn't accusation in her tone, or judgement, just matter of fact admission that was more vulnerable than he could glean from her tone. He didn't crack a joke or make a comment as she spun on her heel and started away, simply followed her. This wasn't the time.

She paused at the top of the stairs, turning to face him. "When you walk in the door, the closet will be on your left, the bed and body on the right. No one will think less of you if you overlook the body."

He was surprised at her candidness, at how open she was especially considering the way she'd ripped into him not two hours before. Yet, he also thought it was sweet. A lot of things were making more sense, the way she reacted, the way she acted, the things she said or did in attempts to push him away while simultaneously leaning on him for comfort…

When he stepped in the room, he didn't look at the body. He wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want to, or because he didn't want Kate to feel like he'd lost that little bit of innocence. Regardless of who it was for, he kept his mind focused on the closet, on the officer crouched in front of two small bodies.

"Come on, Sweetie. It can't be comfortable in there."

Rick laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'll take it from here Pacana," he said softly, then bent to the same position. "Hi. I'm Rick."

He got nothing in response, except blank stares.

"Is it okay if I come in?"

It took a moment, but the little girl looked up to her brother who, very slowly, nodded.

"Excellent," Rick replied with all of the enthusiasm he could muster. "I love hiding in closets. Those games are always the funnest."

"Funnest isn't a word," the little boy said.

"Uh… I guess not," Rick said with a nonchalant shrug. Trust him to find a kid with good grammar. He pulled the doors shut behind him. It served to close the room off from the kids and the kids off from the murder.

"Why'd you close the door?" the little boy asked.

Rick blinked, putting on a show of confused surprise. "Closet games are no fun if the door's open. Then everyone can see."

The little girl nodded vigorously. "No baddie."

Rick judged her to be maybe three. He cocked his head to the side as he asked, "Baddie?"

"She means the bad guy," her brother replied, gripping his sister's hand tightly. "He came in and…"

Rick felt the bile rise in his throat at the thought of these kids witnessing the attack. "You saw him?" Then he shook his head. "I don't get to ask those questions."

"Why?" the toddler inquired. "The pretty lady bringed you. She asks kestins."

Rick wanted to chuckle. She was precious. "She is pretty isn't she," he replied instead. "And it's her job to ask questions. But I'm not a police officer."

"Then why are you here?" The little boy gripped his sister's hand a little tighter.

"Because the pretty lady, Detective Beckett, said you were in here," Rick answered. "I never say no to games."

"Like seek?" the little girl was now looking up at him with undisguised admiration. Rick didn't blame her. He had a different parenting style than most. He had absolutely no problem hiding in closets instead of talking to the police.

"Exactly!" he replied enthusiastically. Then he frowned. "But how are we going to play hide and seek in the closet?"

The little girl giggled and crawled away from him, shoving aside a pile of clothes on the floor and burying herself underneath them. Rick smiled despite the knowledge of what was going on outside. She was adorable, and easily distractible. Her brother, not so much.

"Evie, no," he pouted, shoving the clothes away until he could see her again.

Rick filed the name away. "I'm too big to be able to hide in here." But the little boy chewed his lip.

"I don't want to go out there."

Rick sighed. Okay. The poor kid was exhausted and beyond shaken. He lifted his arm, waving the other until the boy curled up against him, sniffling. The father in him took over and he stroked the boy's head. "What's your name?"

"Liam. And Eve."

Eve crawled back over, settling in his crossed legs and snuggling against his chest. They'd been here a while. They were so tired.

"My Daddy's not okay," Liam said, the tears obvious in his voice, even though his face was buried in Rick's side. "Is he?"

"No," Rick admitted softly. "No he's not."

The little boy started to shake with silent sobs. It didn't take his sister much longer to follow. Rick could only hold on as they cried themselves to sleep.

. . . . .

They stayed there for too long. The only reason Rick knew that was because his entire body was starting protest the curled up position he was in. But he hadn't been able to come up with a good way to get both children out of the closet without submitting them to the crime scene.

And they'd fallen asleep.

The latter was an excellent way to keep their innocence intact. Of course, he was making an assumption, but for his peace of mind he was going to go on pretending that nether of the children had gotten a glimpse of their dead father. Mutilated father. Whatever.

Finally, someone opened the closet door and he found himself blinking up into Kate's surprised, exhausted, amused and… Holy mother of God was that _affection_ in her gaze? Wasn't she supposed to be pissed at him?

"Sorry," she said softly.

"Did you forget about me?"

There was a pause, a charged one, before she said, "We wanted to get some of the things cleaned up. There's still blood on the floor but… everything else is gone."

He nodded, taking the opportunity to stretch his legs out. The way it ended up, he had one between her legs, the other just outside her right, but the intimate nature of the position didn't even register. He was now focused on the pins and needles racing up and down his extremities. "God."

She chuckled slightly. "Again. Sorry."

"Small price to pay," he told her softly, looking down at where Eve was snoring against his shoulder. "Think you can take him?"

Kate looked to Liam. "Shouldn't you? Can you get up with her?"

"You forget, my daughter was this small once."

And with a skill that surprised and impressed her, Rick shifted the toddler and pushed himself up. Kate reached in and very slowly, very carefully, pulled the little boy from his curled up hiding place. Then she looked up at him and he was surprised at the level of sadness she allowed to show. "

"They're just kids," she whispered. "Innocent children. This shouldn't happen to them."

"No," he agreed. "Never."

But he wasn't stupid either. Despite the fact that Kate still had her father, he knew she could see herself in these two little children. He could only imagine the grief she felt, how it was amplified by the fact that these children were so much younger than she'd been when she'd lost her own mother.

"Come on," she said finally. "Let's get them back to the station."

Neither of them liked the idea, but they also knew they didn't have much of a choice. Eve wasn't going to be helpful – Rick pegged her at _maybe _three – but Liam was old enough – eight – to have remembered things. A child's memory was notoriously unreliable, or so he'd learned, but that didn't mean they weren't going to talk to him to get his side of the story. All it took was some skilful manoeuvring and asking the right questions to translate child-speak into a living, breathing suspect.

And if there was anything they needed, it was a suspect.


	10. Personal Business

**Memoir**

**Chapter 9: Personal Battles**

"The man we're looking for is on a mission."

"A mission?" Esposito asked, even as the word went down on the page in front of him.

It was what Emily privately and affectionately referred to as Profile Time. They had enough information to discern a pattern, and develop a style of behaviour to share with the NYPD. "Unlike many serial killers, there is no sexual aspect to the UNSUB's crimes. It's about rage, and his rage is personal."

"He's organized and methodical in plotting his crimes until he has his victims," Derek picked up. "Then all bets are off."

"He's a loner," Reid added. "But there's no indications of forced entry into the homes of his victims. He probably knows them which, considering he's probably about the same age, means he likely graduated from the same class."

"Look for an outcast," Emily said. "He was a loner in high school and despite a personal opinion to the contrary, he is now."

"That describes half of my graduating class," one of the officers spoke up, voice loud with scepticism and amusement.

Most of the BAU agents were more than aware of those emotions in most officers they worked with. To many, their skills were merely a well-honed guessing game. Maybe they'd get lucky and hit the nail on the head. It was only Hotch who reacted to the not-so-subtle snub. Emily caught his hand clenching at his side.

"He'll be white," the Unit Chief snapped out. The whole room, which had been twittering in amusement, came to attention. "Close in age to our younger victims and, from the amount of violence in the last scene, he's devolving. He won't stop at people from his class now, he'll focus on anyone who he believes sees him the same way they did."

"Anyone?" Castle asked, eyebrows arching.

Emily stepped in before Hotch could scare the officers any more. She'd known the little boy would set him off, but he'd been adamant that they get down to putting the presentation together when they returned from the scene. Emily had let it go, but she made a note to ensure he talked to Jack when this was all over. There was no reason to have to clean blood out of the bullpen floor. "He'll be looking for anyone whom he thinks shuns him the same way his classmates did."

"Anyone?" Castle repeated again. It was a daunting word. The wrong movement could set the guy off. His next target could be literally anyone, and the gravity settled on the room heavily.

"It's about showing the world that he matters," Rossi said into the bleak silence. "It's about the fifteen minutes of fame he never had and he believes himself entitled to."

"Until now he's been focused on those in his high school graduating class. We've got a list of students and teachers from the class our first three victims graduated with, but, predictably, the list is long," JJ chipped in. "Since this is his primary hunting targets we want to make sure they know he's out there, targeting them, and he's dangerous."

The room started to shuffle as JJ split the stack of numbers with Reid to hand out to volunteering officers. Emily caught Castle heading towards the stairs as she called out, "One more thing."

She wasn't surprised when he kept going. He had a daughter, if she remembered right, and he'd do whatever Beckett was assigned to do. That much she'd learned.

"It never hurts to ask if they have any idea," she continued on without a blink. "These people know this man, or knew him. Anything they may be able to remember may help."

With the officers effectively dismissed, Emily set her sights on her next hurdle: Hotch.

His hand was rhythmically clenching and unclenching and she sighed. "Hotch, go call Jack."

He looked down at her, because she was still shorter than he was, regardless of the shoes she chose. His hand was still clenching against his thigh, a rarity in and of itself. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," she said, feeling the edges of her temper. She was tired, they all were, and two orphan children? That never helped matters. Hotch had a way to buffer some of it, to try and counter some of the melancholy there was no doubt they were all feeling. "Call your son."

"Prentiss, I'm fine."

Oh, for the love of… "None of us are fine," she told him, voice hard. It was one tone short of hissing angry. "You're clenching your fist, you snapped at an officer for something we deal with _almost every case_. You're not fine. You're not even close to okay."

"We have a case, Prentiss. An UNSUB that's choosing his targets based subjective perception. People are going to die."

"Hey, Hotch, I uh… I'm going to step out for a minute-" It was JJ, likely about to mention to Hotch taking a moment to call her son. Henry was young, but even baby babble was something.

"We've got two-hundred names to call," Hotch replied shortly.

JJ's eyes widened, but it was the only sign that she recognized this may have been the one time sneaking out was a better idea. "I know. I just-"

"You know how much leg work this is, JJ. We need everyone."

"Hotch," and Emily had to give JJ credit for her spine. Not many went up against a snappy Hotch and lived, and Hotch had a soft spot for the blond. "I need a minute."

Usually, that was enough. Usually, Hotch would tell JJ to go call Henry, to take a walk, grab a coffee… Hell, they'd all 'run out for coffee' to clear their heads before.

"We don't have a minute."

And that was Emily's last straw.

"Get out," she snapped, shoving at his shoulder. Her temper had frayed to breaking point and if he was going to be stupid, well, she was going to take advantage. Hotch wasn't stupid often.

Hotch switched his attention to his agent; his formidable agent that looked about ready to take his head off. She was almost livid. It surprised him how quickly his own irritation settled with her so angry. "What?"

"Get out. Take a walk, get a coffee, call Jack, do _something_ but get out. Come back when you can act like a human being facing a brutal case and _not_ scold others for needing to take a step back."

He blinked. Technically, he was her superior. He could tell her she was out of line, he could file an official reprimand.

"Right now, all you're doing is antagonizing the people we're here to help; you're antagonizing your own team," she said, having thankfully lowered her voice. "You're not helping the damned investigation, Hotch, and you're supposed to be leading it. Go call Jack, get a grip."

He paused, considered. He could put her in her place; write her up for insubordination. It wouldn't accomplish anything other than alienating one of his only floatation devices in this job and probably pissing of his team. And that wasn't worth it.

So he turned on his heel, and walked out.

* * *

It was funny how a little thing like weather didn't seem to bother Rick when he was in a mood. It wasn't rainy, but it was shockingly cold, whatever that meant. Maybe it was just him. He had a lot on his mind, enough that it explained why he was standing outside, his phone in hand, completely and totally indecisive.

His hand hovered over the cell phone, as though it were something dangerous, definitely not something as innocuous as a cell phone. The call he was itching to make, however – that was the real reason he was pausing. Alexis Castle was _smart_. She had to be, with him as a father. Half the time, Rick was sure it was her who was raising him and not the other way around.

He loved her, very much.

Eve's face wouldn't leave his mind. That shattered innocence lingered there, and it was as though he could still feel her weight in his arms. His mouth felt dry and his head ached, and if he were to think back, he wasn't too sure of the last time he'd eaten.

He knew exactly why Kate had wanted him to stay in the car.

There were too many things swarming his head. Kate's exhaustion was at the forefront. He could see her tired eyes just by closing his own; he could sense her patience growing thin and couldn't blame her for a second of it. Any other person in her position would have cracked already, and she was going as strong as she could possibly be, regardless of whether or not the little girl's stricken face painted the back of her eyelids.

But she was wearing thin, and he could see it.

Eve's face was in his head now, too. Her tiny frame hiding in the back of that closet with her brother, the weight of her as she'd fallen asleep. He imagined the years ahead of her, torn from everything she'd been so sure of at such a young age. What he wanted to imagine was different from what he actually saw playing out. He wanted to imagine her growing strong as Kate had. He wanted to imagine her becoming her own person and coming out of this strong on the other end.

What he imagined instead was a young girl who was going to grow bitter, and he hated it.

His hand still lingered over that phone.

What if it had been him? He was a single father, same as that man had been. What if it had been Alexis sitting in that closet, waiting for a father who was never going to find her again?

Rick swallowed, hard.

It was a rough reality check he'd tried so hard not to face over the years. He loved Kate, there was really no avoiding that, but he loved Alexis too. The last thing he wanted was to strand her like that. Leave her behind. He didn't want her to see this either.

He wanted nothing more than to call his daughter, just to check if she was all right.

Just to make _himself_ all right.

But as he already knew, his daughter was smart. The only thing he wanted more than to call her was to keep her in the dark about this case. This was nothing for a young girl to imagine, let alone hear in her father's voice. And she would, of that he had no doubt. Alexis might not be young, but in Rick's eyes, she was five years old and following him in the park.

The door opened to his left. Rick turned, expecting to see Beckett.

It was Aaron Hotchner.

He nodded once, hand closing around his phone as though hiding it from the FBI agent – and then he saw the phone in the agent's hand. Rick couldn't help but release a breath.

"Agent Hotchner," He greeted. "I was just leaving." Rick nodded, half at the phone in the FBI agent's hand. He stood, walking to the door and then pausing with his hand on it. "I guess you've seen that kind of thing before. Kids, and fathers. Not that we haven't, here, but..."

And Hotchner turned. It was something that surprised him, actually. He assumed he'd get the cold shoulder, but though the man stood, spine straight, stern face, even Rick could see the lines that hadn't been there.

"You never get used to it," Hotchner said and Rick watched his eyes dart upwards, towards the bullpen. Then they fixed on the writer again. "I have a son," he admitted, and Rick was surprised he'd offered the information. "Sometimes Jack is the only thing that keeps me going."

For the first time, Rick truly believed he understood what the other man was saying. He didn't have to be there. He could be at home, with said daughter that kept floating in front of his face, but instead, he was there. It was late, it was a terrible case, and there was a detective in that bullpen that needed him. Whether she knew it or not. It was the latter that kept him there, kept him working, kept him running on fumes, cracking jokes, putting in man hours that were volunteer at best.

He offered the man a small smile and turned. He turned back again, on impulse, ignoring how much of an idiot it made him look. "You guys… to do this day in and day out… it takes courage. Dedication. Whether you take the credit or not, you do work that is, in many ways without reward. That takes drive and motivation." He swallowed, because h knew the man didn't like him, knew the man thought him a nuisance, but he couldn't stand by without telling him. "It's impressive. And admirable. And necessary. Thankless, probably, but… for what it's worth, it's been an honour to meet you, and stabilizing for the NYPD to have you around."

The man barely blinked.

Rick offered a shrug. "For all the people who don't realize what you do… Thank you."

And then, he made another impulsive decision. Maybe it was time to get some air. So, with a quick text to Kate, he started to walk.

. . . . .

Well.

That had definitely not been what he'd thought. The phone was up to his ear and ringing, even though he wasn't through considering the writer who had just walked out that door.

He'd seen it. The way he watched Detective Beckett, the way he reacted to her, her orders… He'd seen the way the other detectives turned to him, relied on him to keep things light, not in the way of a class clown, but in the way of someone who could separate himself from the death and destruction, even for the moment, to see the good. Hotch was well aware of how easy it was to get lost in the darkness. He'd lost his wife over it, hadn't he?

He easily admitted, if only to himself, that of course he'd been skeptical. A writer following a detective? That was a recipe for disaster, danger and general mayhem. But Detective Beckett had asked Castle to stay out of the crime scene and he had. She'd asked him to come in, and he had. Maybe he wasn't law enforcement, but it was becoming more and more obvious that the Twelfth Precinct of the NYPD certainly treated him as one of their own.

"Daddy!"

The sound of his son's voice made him smile. It didn't matter what had happened that day, what type of cases he'd seen, or what mood he'd been in – his son's voice could do that to him, every single time.

"Hey, buddy. How've you been?"

"Good!" He could almost see the way Jack would be gripping the phone, the way Jessica would be standing over him and smiling at her nephew. "I got ice cream and Aunt Jessica and me watched a movie."

"That sounds like a lot of fun." He leaned against the table. "What movie was it?"

"Aladdin! I miss you Daddy. Did you catch the bad guy? Then you can come home, right?"

He swallowed the sigh that threatened to rise. "We're going to catch him very soon. I miss you too, buddy."

"I miss you more!"

"Do you? How much?"

"This much!" The phone made a sound when it hit the table, and he laughed. He could imagine him spreading his arms wide, dropping the phone in his excitement. In the background, he could hear Jessica telling him that Daddy couldn't see it.

"I forgot." Jack said into the phone. "I spread my arms _real_ wide."

"I bet it was a lot." Hotch assured him. "I've gotta go, buddy."

"Okay." He couldn't help but notice that his son's voice sounded sad. "I see you soon, Daddy?"

"Yeah, buddy. I'll see you soon."

How did Richard Castle do it? Sure, the man wasn't a true cop – he didn't even have to be here. Somehow, that made things worse. He was doing this and it wasn't even his job, and it had to come at a personal cost for him. There wasn't a way that it couldn't. The man's daughter was nearly grown, definitely old enough to understand the very real implications of everything that was going on, with every case that he helped with. The reality of that hit him. There was going to be a day soon where Jack would figure out what Daddy going to work really meant.

Probably sooner than it would have been for most kids his age.

He didn't know how he was going to deal with that yet, but Richard Castle seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it. He had a bit more respect for the man upon that realization.

* * *

"Twelfth precinct, please."

"You okay, honey?"

Alexis looked up at the cab driver's concerned question, perplexed. Oh. _Oh!_ Her eyes widened. "I'm fine," she said, catching onto the reason behind the question. "Really. My dad works there. I'm not reporting a crime."

_Nice Alexis,_ she thought to herself _make the nice cabbie think you've been raped._

She shook her head at her own stupidity. But God, she was tired. Really tired. Between her own school work and her concern for her father, she was exhausted and preoccupied. He'd sounded utterly morose on the phone. Hence her impulsive decision to head to the Twelfth herself.

The problem was easy to identify. Her dad wasn't talking to her. Usually, when they had a case, her father would bounce ideas off of her, talk her through some of the issues and roadblocks the case presented. But not this time. This time, she was on the outside trying to figure out what was going on. Like a teenaged detective. Her father would be proud.

The case was obviously bothering him. He was at the precinct morning, noon and night and when she had seen him at home, he'd looked exhausted and more frustrating than she'd ever seen him. Even the worst cases hadn't left his eyes that haunted.

Her father was hiding, and Alexis was sick of it.

She was learning with alarming speed that bullets weren't the only thread to her dad. Cases hurt him too, got under his skin and haunted him. She sighed as the cab pulled up to the precinct. This was a mess.

The homicide floor was a-buzz when Alexis stepped off the elevator, with more activity than she'd ever seen it. Several of the men and women were unfamiliar and it took Alexis' exhausted brain a few moments to remind her that the FBI was in town.

"Alexis?"

She turned at Detective Ryan's voice. Even his face was pinched in worry.

"Are you here for your dad?"

Alexis shook her head. "I'm actually looking for Detective Beckett." Because her dad may not listen to her, but he would listen to his partner.

"Hey Beckett," Ryan called, spotting his boss coming out of the break room, looking down at her phone. "You've got a visitor."

Kate looked worse than her father. The circles under her eyes were darker than the last time Alexis had set eyes on her. But Alexis had come in with a mission. She had to speak up, to say something about her dad. If she didn't, it was going to eat her up.

"Alexis." Despite her exhaustion, Kate looked genuinely glad to see her. "Your dad just stepped out." Her forehead wrinkled and Alexis knew he'd been gone longer than the detective had originally anticipated. "He should be back any minute."

The redhead followed Kate to her desk, twisting her fingers together. "I um… I actually wanted to talk to you."

Kate blinked in surprise as she took her seat. "Oh."

Alexis perched herself on the edge of the seat beside the detective's desk.

"What's up Alexis?"

There was a gentle, consoling tone to her voice, like Kate thought Alexis was a skittish and frightened animal. The redhead sucked in a breath, trying to decide where to start.

"Is something wrong?"

Alexis swallowed convulsively. This was Kate, she reminded herself. Kate listened, regardless of what Alexis had to say.

"I want my dad to stop shadowing you."

Kate's face dropped for a split second and Alexis would have missed it if she wasn't staring. She shook her head. It had come out wrong.

"I just… It's killing him, Kate." She looked down at her hands. "It's killing both of you and no one will tell me why."

Kate released a breath. Alexis wondered if it was in relief. "We can't, Alexis," she offered.

"But it's _breaking_ you," Alexis argued, surprised her voice didn't rise.

"This case…" Kate shook her head. "No Alexis. Not this time."

"Is it because of the FBI? Because you can't talk about ongoing cases?"

"No." She took a moment to visibly collect herself. "No one should see this case."

But Alexis had come prepared. "It's the serial killer." She paused to let that sink in, watching Kate's eyes close briefly. "It's all over the news."

Instead of giving in, Kate's spine straightened. "Then you know why your dad won't discuss it."

Alexis released a sound of discontent. "He's not a cop, Detective. If no one should see this, then send him home."

"I wish I could. I've _tried_, Alexis," Kate responded. "Every crime scene, every dead end…" She shook her head. "He's not listening to me."

Alexis barely held back the next comment about her father's feelings. It would have been the natural next step. And she had to admit, Kate looked more than a little defeated.

"He signed up to shadow me, not participate, and I get that. I do wish he wasn't involved, Alexis, but I can't make him let go either."

Alexis believed her. As frustrating as it was that Kate refused to recognize her father's feelings, Kate cared for her dad. "I don't want him to get hurt."

"I know," Kate promised, reaching out a hand to rest it on the ones in Alexis' lap. "And I _promise_ Alexis, I'm doing _everything_ in my power to make sure he's not in harm's way."

"Alexis?"

She looked up at her father's voice. He looked tortured and exhausted. It broke her heart. "Hi, Daddy."

"It's late, sweetheart," her dad said gently, even as he pulled her into a hug that almost broke her ribs.

"I know, but you sounded _terrible_ on the phone," she responded, squeezing him as tight as she could. "Maybe you should come home."

"I don't know."

Alexis pulled back to see her dad looking at Kate. If she was going to stay, so was her dad and Kate looked just as miserable. "Kate should come," she found herself saying.

Kate looked surprised. "Oh no, I-"

"Kate."

Just her name. Her father had only spoken the detective's name and Alexis watched her mouth snap shut. Maybe Kate wasn't as blind as Alexis thought.

"Come on."

Kate chewed her lip. "Give me an hour," she finally said. "Lanie texted me about the autopsy."

"An hour," her father agreed but there was a note of steel in his voice, a warning.

"An hour," she promised, then smiled at Alexis. "Maybe we can finish our movie."

It was her way of promising Alexis she would be there. Alexis bit her lip, but nodded. It wasn't exactly what she wanted but Alexis also knew when to retreat. She wasn't cold-hearted either and she found herself hoping that the loft was exactly what they both needed to wipe some of the death and horror from their eyes.

* * *

_Yay! We did it! We're so happy to have this done let me tell you… Oh my gosh._

_The next one isn't likely to be up before January. SSW does NanNoWriMo this month and I'm getting about 80 papers to mark in a couple of weeks, plus my other stories that dearly need attention. This is falling far down our priorities and we won't be looking at it again until December. We wish it could be faster, but we just don't have the schedules. _

_Bright side. __**WE'VE BEEN NOMINATED AGAIN! **__ilovetvalot and tonnie2001969 are running the Profiler's Choice Awards for the second year through their Chit Chat forum. This fic's been nominated for best crossover for the second year running. If you're in love with this fic, and you aren't incredibly po'd with us over how bloody long it takes us to update, please head over and vote __**BEFORE NOVEMBER 30**__**TH**__. SSW and I would both dearly appreciate the support. _

_Thanks for reading!_


	11. The Final Piece

**Memoir**

**Chapter 10: The Last Piece**

Emily liked to believe that she knew all of the Jedi mindtricks. Hadn't she been the one to convince JJ that Will wasn't a lost cause without admitting she'd known about the relationship the entire year it had been going on?

Lanie Parish, however, was a league all of her own. There was nothing subtle about the ME, but there was an attitude Emily had to admire. Until she, JJ, and Beckett headed down to the morgue for Bryce Moran's autopsy results.

The ME pinned Emily with a look intense enough to actually put a hitch in the agent's step.

"Reign in your man, Agent Prentiss."

JJ, the traitor, snorted from beside her. Emily favoured her friend with a glare. "My man?"

"You're too gorgeous for dumb to look good on you, Sweetie," Parish responded with patronizing sympathy. "Mister Tall, Dark and Somber. Or, Agent."

Emily bit her lip. Was she really that obvious? How much control she could exert over the Unit Chief? "He's fine."

"Uh huh, Sure."

The woman was good. A few straight-forward words and Emily felt like she'd been scolded for not cleaning her room. It was what compelled her to say, "And he's not my man."

"Yet," JJ said with a smirk. Traitor. Still.

Beckett had remained silent, though the smile playing across the detective's mouth made Emily think she was glad it was someone else on the other end of the ME's particular brand of interrogation. They locked eyes and Beckett offered a sympathetic smile. Emily was glad when the detective took pity on her.

"Lanie, the autopsy?"

Parish shot Emily a look that screamed 'we're not done' but handed over a file with her findings. "Bled out, shocker. Still got nothin' on your knife except it's sharp and probably long."

"Butcher knife?" Beckett asked as she skimmed the file.

"Anything I'm givin' you is a guess," Parish lamented. There was frustration, irritation and guilt in her face, like her inability to give them more information was what was holding them back from finding their UNSUB. Emily didn't miss the way Parish's eyes focused on Beckett, as if she was letting the other woman down.

"Right now, it's better than what we've got," JJ spoke up. She hadn't missed the look that passed between the two women either.

"Butcher knife is an option," Parish said. "From what I can tell from the wounds at least six inches. But he's careful. No bruises." She sighed. "We've been checkin' the bodies daily for any latent bruising. So far, nada."

"So longer than six inches. The hilt isn't hitting skin."

"Or he's careful," JJ replied. "Knife goes in slow enough that it doesn't break the vessels to bruise."

Emily's face was grim. "Torture. Fits with the profile."

"But not sadism," Beckett added.

Emily was impressed. The locals often picked up some of the profile techniques, but rarely the nuances. Like sadism. "It's not about the kill it's about the message."

"I hate you."

Parish shivered though Emily knew it was overly dramatic. "That's a nightmare I didn't need."

As if they weren't all going to have nightmares anyway.

Beckett sighed and checked her watch. "I have to go."

"We'll make sure this gets added to the profile," JJ offered easily. It wasn't like exhaustion wasn't running rampant through the Twelfth's homicide department and it wouldn't be the first time the FBI picked up some of the slack. Emily and JJ both knew by now that Beckett would be staying into the early hours of the morning if they let her go back to the bullpen. At least with the two of them, they were more likely to add all of the information and head back to their hotel.

"You have a hot date, Girl?"

Beckett actually smiled, though it was affectionate. "No. Alexis was by the bullpen today. I got conned into heading to Castle's loft."

"Good," Parish said, bluntly. "About time you let the man take care of you." Her eyes cut to Emily. "You might want to do the same for yours."

Emily huffed. "He's not my man. And he was fine after he talked to his son."

"And who made him do that?" JJ asked with a smirk.

"I saved your rear."

JJ just shrugged that smirk still there. "Still. He listens to you and Dave. And I caught you a couple of mornings ago. You looked mighty comfy Agent Prentiss."

Emily glared. Parish laughed. Even Beckett looked like she was amused.

"Get out," the ME said with a wave of her gloved hands. "You all have places to be. Men to be with."

Could Emily counter that? Beyond the fact that there was nothing she could say – obviously – to change Parish's mind, Emily couldn't really argue that the ME was wrong. She had anticipated seeing Hotch, talking to him, making sure he was okay away from the precinct and the case. But she'd do the same for Reid, Morgan, Rossi if they were having a bad case, if their worst nightmares showed up in a closet.

She found herself sighing as they all said their goodnights and went their separate ways. She and JJ were in the elevator to the Twelfth's homicide bullpen when JJ finally spoke.

"She got to you."

"Who?" Emily asked without thinking. She earned an irritated look from JJ. "Oh. Doctor Parish." She paused. "Not really."

"She did," JJ said firmly. "And you know she's right."

"Hotch isn't mine, Jayje," Emily replied quietly as the elevator doors slid open. "We've talked about this."

"No, we've talked about the fact that you're scared and I'm not saying you shouldn't be," JJ retorted. "What I'm saying is that if you wanted it, if you wanted him, you could have him. Easily."

"Not easily. Not easily at all," Emily hissed back, her frustration starting to break through. "JJ, rules, Foyet, Jack… seriously?"

"Seriously." And JJ was exactly that. She was dead serious. She believed, in a twisted way, in Hotch and Emily, in what they brought out in each other, in what they could bring each other. She didn't have a doubt in the world about whether or not Emily could get along with Jack. Emily would fit seamlessly into that little family unit because she was already there. The only person who didn't seem to see that was Emily.

"Beyond the fact that you both have enough baggage to go on a trip for a year, you are the _only _person who doesn't realize he's into you."

Emily rolled her eyes.

"Okay, you're the only one who can't see that he needs you."

"Having a happy family is screwing with your brain."

"Bullshit."

That pulled the brunette up short. It wasn't the swearing that caught her, but the tone. She blinked at JJ, watching her friend's blue eyes flash with anger and frustration.

"You're a damn coward," JJ accused. "You won't take the leap." She paused, forced herself to suck in a breath, trying to get herself back under control. "Look, you're my best friend and it's not entirely out of line to say Hotch and I are close. Fundamentally, I want you both to be happy. Coincidentally, I think you guys will be happy together. And it drives me _crazy_ that the two of you are so stubborn about pretending you're not attracted to each other."

She all but stormed out of the elevator when it hit the homicide floor, leaving Emily gaping after her. Emily sighed, snapping out of her shock when the doors started closing again. She chose a slower pace through the bullpen though. Why couldn't JJ understand the myriad of problems she and Hotch would face? It wasn't like the detective and her writer. If it was all about attraction, Emily was sure she and Hotch would have just… dealt with it. Maybe. But it wasn't.

It never was.

JJ had already launched into the autopsy results when Emily stepped into the room they'd commandeered as a command post. Detective Beckett and Castle were the only ones missing, but it didn't seem like anyone really cared. She was glad, and found herself gravitating towards Hotch, as she was wont to do when something was bothering her. He looked much better, calmer, and he shot her a look of concern. She shook her head. It wasn't the time and it definitely wasn't the place. She needed time to think anyway, to figure out why JJ was so up in arms about the whole thing and why the hell she kept telling Emily she was blind.

Even if she was, blind that is, it didn't negate everything else.

And everything else was a lot to handle.

* * *

Time passed differently in Castle's loft. Maybe it was because it was different there. She didn't have to think very much – about the murders, or the victims. They wouldn't let her. For just a few small hours she could simply _be_. And god, it was sanity.

It didn't change her, though – it didn't change that the thoughts came back unbidden, and she couldn't help but to think it – that she was sitting here while out there, someone was being _hunted_… but she had to eat, didn't she? At least, that was what Lanie kept telling her.

And, as Castle had told her – she needed to sleep. Both of them were tired. It was easy enough for her to tell that he was, too – there'd been no snide comments about sleeping and beds, or sharing said bed – just the same genuine concern she'd been seeing for awhile now, since the day he'd found her sleeping at the precinct.

She'd tried to insist on driving herself home instead of staying the night like he'd suggested, but he kept _insisting_. He'd have absolutely none of it. She'd stayed before, hadn't she? Of her own volition too. And really, she was tired. Her eyelids felt like sandpaper but there was no way she was letting him in on that one. He'd already had enough of a hint at _just_ how tired she was when she'd fallen asleep three times while watching Jeopardy with him and Alexis.

The third time was when he'd absolutely insisted. She wasn't normally one to give in but it felt nice for once, just a little bit. Castle had gone off to sleep a half hour ago with a yawn and an exclamation of his own exhaustion. "The guest room's yours, Kate." He'd said, and like she hadn't noticed he'd been calling her by her first name more and more often these days. It was completely unreasonable that it sent a shiver down her spine. Honestly, it was just her name.

But then there'd been Lanie today, doing her best to knock Agent Prentiss over the head with a giant _clue_ the woman honestly needed in her life – and of course she knew what Lanie was doing. She'd known the woman long enough to know _exactly_ what she was doing. It wasn't like the ME hadn't done it before, with Kate. She did that. She pushed and shoved into people's lives and even though Kate knew it was for what Lanie honestly believed was a good cause, it didn't mean it didn't add to the stress they already had.

Unless, of course – unless _being_ with someone that, to be quite honest, Kate knew would make her happy in ways she hadn't let herself begin to address – unless that would help. And maybe it would. It was fully possible that it would, but could she do that? Could she allow herself to take that step, right now?

She wasn't sure she could. She wasn't sure she could _allow_ herself to do that, to rely on someone even the slightest, right now in the very least. The thought made her mouth go dry, and while she didn't know as much about Agent Emily Prentiss as she did about the people in her precinct, she could see that the woman was a lot like her. Of course, Kate could see the tension between Agent Prentiss and Agent Hotchner as easily as Lanie could, but that didn't mean she thought it was right to push them, right now.

It was another thing to add to the growing pile in her mind.

The movie that she and Alexis were watching was on so quietly that Kate was wondering whether either of them were paying attention to it when the younger Castle nudged her with a foot. Kate looked over to find Alexis watching her.

"Kate?" She asked, and the detective noticed the hesitance. "About what I said earlier…"

Kate shook her head. "It's okay. Really, Alexis. I understand-"

"That's …" The girl sighed. "You know it's not what I meant, right? You know it's not you? I like you. I think you're good for him. He's happy and he's not as _crazy _and I think you helped him grow up a little, you know? It's not you, because I like you. It's the shadowing. I'm worried about him."

During Alexis's speech, Kate had sat up more fully, so that the two women were now turned towards each other on the couch, both sitting Indian style. She hadn't had the chance to find the right words yet before the teen spoke again.

"To be honest, I'm worried about both of you."

"Alexis-"

"I mean it." When her eyes met Kate's, there was a fire there that reminded Kate of herself, in a way. There was stubbornness in the teenager's eyes. "I've never seen him come home and look so… _worried_ But you – and don't take this the wrong way- you're even worse."

It wasn't something that she didn't know. And if it was just a little bit _more_ worrying that she was proud of that – that he looked less worried than she did – then that was something she was going to have to consider later. That was an entirely different beast.

"I know he does." Kate said instead of dwelling on that fact. "To be honest, Alexis, I've been trying to keep him out of this one."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't need to get close to it. There's a line. And he doesn't need to cross it."

"And this does?"

Kate nodded.

"Okay." Alexis paused, then sighed. "And what about you?"

"It's my job. Not your Dad's. I signed up for it. This comes with it."

"All I know is that when you're upset, my Dad's upset." Alexis said. "He worries about you."

"And you worry about him." It wasn't a question.

"Of course I do." Alexis answered simply.

Kate couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in her voice, even though her mind was drawn back to so many years ago – when her father had fallen into that hole and couldn't get back out. She didn't think she'd done more worrying before in her life. She hadn't slept. She'd hardly eaten. And she hadn't been that much older than Alexis, not at all. It wasn't the same sort of worrying but it just wasn't something the girl needed on her plate.

Kate reached forward and put a hand on Alexis' knee.

"I don't want you to." She said, voice honest. "I'm doing my best to keep him out of it. I'll continue to do that."

Alexis nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Can you promise me something?"

Kate took a breath. "I'll try."

"Take care of yourself, too."

Kate's heart clenched, and simply because she couldn't bear to give another answer, she heard herself say, "Okay."

"Okay." Alexis smiled, though it wasn't as wide and bright as some of the one's Kate had seen before. It cracked Kate's heart a little to know the teenager suspected a lie. Still, Alexis didn't push it. Instead, she asked brightly, "Ice cream?"

* * *

When Rick woke, the house was suspiciously quiet. Glancing at the clock told him he should, at the very least, hear Alexis. It was with slow, measured steps that he made his way down to the den and was greeted with a sight that made his heart skip, almost the same way it had the first time he'd found two of the most important women in his life asleep in the living room.

Alexis and Kate were curled up together on the couch, both of them still asleep. He smiled, taking in the picture for a minute before reaching out for his daughter.

"Alexis."

The teenager's nose wrinkled, but she settled in again. Her companion, however, woke almost immediately, eyes clear but not quite awake. Rick graced her clear hazel eyes with a gentle smile. "Detective."

"Castle," she greeted, relaxing again as she realized everything was okay.

He took a chance, resting a hand on her thigh, his thumb stroking in gentle circles. "How did you sleep?"

Kate shrugged. "I slept."

He arched an eyebrow, then took in the DVD screen and the two ice cream bowls. When he looked back at her, she simply shrugged.

"What time is it?" Her voice was still husky with sleep.

"Late," he replied. "Alexis is going to be late for school."

"Damn."

"We needed the sleep," Rick soothed.

"No one called?"

"Kate?"

Their conversation had woken Alexis and Rick got a real treat as Kate ran her hand through his daughter's long red tresses. "Good morning."

"It's morning? Am I late?"

"Yup," Rick spoke up. "I'll call the school, but you need to get into the shower."

Alexis' blue eyes shot open. "Dad!" she whined detangling herself from Kate quickly. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Rick just chuckled as the teenager scampered quickly up the stairs. He watched Kate reach for her phone then sighed.

"Does this mean you're staying for a long leisurely breakfast?"

"We're late too, Castle," she argued.

"Then no one will mind if we're a little bit later," he responded.

"The victims and their families mind," she said fixing him with a nasty glare as he moved around the couch.

Rick held in a sigh, but just barely. Kate was cranky and exhausted, running herself ragged and it was taking its toll. Instead of going to pull out things for breakfast, he rested his hands on her thin shoulders, feeling the ridiculously tense muscles beneath. "My god, Kate." He hadn't been able to hold in the released breath as he realized just how hard she was taking the case.

A shiver drilled down Kate's spine, both at the heat of his hands and his softly breathed words. It struck her then, that he was less damaged than she was for the sole reason that he'd separated himself and been separated from the case. He came home to Martha, Alexis and ice cream sundaes. More than that, this wasn't his fourth victim like it was hers. He had ways to separate himself.

And, as she was feeling, he had amazing hands.

Rick, his brow wrinkled, worked his thumbs into her shoulders and her neck, ignoring how smooth her skin was under his hands. She was terribly tense, which lent to explaining some of the headaches she'd been experiencing over the days since he'd been back.

Kate let him pull her under, for once in her life, simply allowing Rick Castle take her mind away from four dead people and the FBI. The spell was broken by Alexis' whirlwind down the stairs.

"Dad, where's your wallet?"

It was with reluctance that he allowed Kate to slip out from beneath his hands. "You can use the hall bathroom or the master bath."

She expected innuendo, some sort of underhanded sexual comment about joining her, but none came. She was just climbing the stairs when her name stepped her, and she found Alexis' steady gaze.

"I hope you solve your case," she said sincerely.

* * *

If Penelope Garcia never saw a yearbook again, she'd decided she'd be the happiest tech genius in the world.

Annie Bryers, she'd concluded, was the missing link. Bryers was going to be the one that linked them all. She'd already pulled out her bag of tricks to dig up the graduating class, now her job turned to focusing on who it could be. Who had the connection? Who was the one who hated their victims the most?

It had taken her _forever_.

The team, she knew, had made all the connections they could. It was her turn now. That was the way their team worked. And she _would not_ let them down.

Nuh uh. No way.

"Come on, baby," she murmured to herself as she entered in the last remaining bit of data she hadn't. The names, the signature…

Her head cleared with surprising alacrity and her heart jumped. It wasn't often she made the connections ahead of her superheroes.

But looking at the information in front of her, the pictures she could remember seeing combing through yearbooks to file everything….

She was pretty sure she just found the key piece of their deadly puzzle.

* * *

_We made our timeline! We said January and it's January! I'm going to say March, but more realistically it'll be April by the time we get the next one done. SSW just switched schools and I'm trying to finish my thesis by March 1st so all of my writing is sidelined. _

_As always, we say thanks to the ends of the earth and from the bottom of our hearts to each of you that's reviewed, and even more so for your patience. Allowing us to work at this at our pace so we can produce the best chapters we feel we can means a lot to both of us and takes a lot of pressure off of our shoulders. When we started this, I don't think either of us anticipated the feedback we have received for a crossover, so it's three times as awesome for us to see those of you who are so encouraging of the story and of the way we want to write it. _

_Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to leave us a note on what you thought of it._


	12. Her Choice

**Memoir**

**Chapter 11: Her Choice**

He'd been very careful.

Very, very careful.

He was pretty sure no one suspected. He'd seen the coverage, the newspapers, the television article, but he was pretty sure he'd done well in covering his tracks. He was smarter. He was always smarter. He always had been smarter.

He knocked sharply on the plain white door of Amy Cooper. She'd been class president, the most popular one of all. He'd come across her name while perusing his old yearbooks, gloating to himself about a job well done. They weren't going to ignore him now. Never, ever again.

He'd seen her picture, Amy's picture, surrounded by the entirety of student council, in front of the whole of their graduating class and he'd just known. It was perfect. He would get her to see, just like the rest of them. He would make her see just how stupid she'd been for ignoring him, for making him feel less than he was. For taking it all from him.

"Hello?"

He grinned at her confusion. "Amy Cooper."

"Yes."

Clueless. Perfect. He felt the anger and resentment rise with the excitement. It was always better when they didn't know. "It's me. You remember. We went to high school together." He smiled as amicably as possible. "Can I come in?"

She stepped back.

And sealed her own fate.

. . . . .

The morning was slow. The BAU had been there long before Castle and Beckett had arrived. Even Esposito and Ryan had beat them in. For the first time, it didn't really seem like Kate cared.

A few hours in, when Castle couldn't look at the pictures any longer, he made his way outside. The wind shocked feeling into his cheeks as he sat on the front stairs of the Twelfth watching the hustle and bustle of New York. He didn't even move when he felt someone sit next to him.

"You can go home," JJ said softly. He recognized the invitation for what it was, an acknowledgment of how hard it was to look into those faces, to remember those children and still move forward. "This isn't your job."

"I wish people would stop saying that," he answered on a sigh. "I know I'm not trained for this, but it's not like I can't take it."

"No one can take this," JJ pointed out. She kept her voice low, quiet, soothing and he sighed. It was working and he knew it. Damn, but he was starting to hate these profilers. "This isn't something you 'take'. This is something you are choosing to see."

"I'm not choosing anything," he snapped back. He was exhausted and he was frustrated with the sheer number of people calling attention to the fact that he wasn't a trained officer. That didn't mean he wasn't useful, it didn't mean he didn't know the ropes. It didn't mean he couldn't protect Kate, that he couldn't be there for her. He was here for her, because she needed someone to take care of her, to be her partner, to fight with her, for her and beside her. And nothing had proven that more than this case.

"Look, I know you guys see this every day," he began, "but we don't. They don't. Which makes this different. It means nightmares and skipped meals, it means hours upon hours upon hours in that precinct with no break. And she can't take that."

"She?"

"They."

"But you said she."

He growled.

JJ smiled. "You haven't made a secret of it, Mister Castle. She might be blind, but we're not."

That was the problem though, wasn't it. The idea that everyone else could see so very clearly what he wanted but Kate. Sometimes he figured she was just blind, that somehow she was entirely unaware of how things had shifted and changed within him and between them. But then Lanie or Esposito or Ryan or hell, even the officers on scene would shoot him that look, the one that said he was so transparent it bordered on pathetic. Yet Kate didn't seem to notice.

She laughed humourlessly. "It's okay. It's going around."

Castle didn't have to ask.

"Look," JJ said after a few moments. "I understand that you need to be here. You need to stay here. You need to watch over her. I definitely understand that. Completely. But the only way you're going to help her is if you can walk away. You're of no use if you get bogged down in it all just like her."

He sighed. "It's not making a difference."

"I bet it's making more of a difference than you think." She reached over then, squeezing his forearm in support. She was half way back up the steps of the Twelfth when he called her name.

"Why aren't you a profiler?"

JJ smiled. "I have other skills."

"You've got profiler ones too," Castle responded with a smile. "Thanks."

She nodded.

"Tell Beckett I'll be back."

JJ watched him walk off with a sense of triumphant accomplishment. One down, one to go.

. . . . .

David Rossi wrote the book on fraternization.

Not literally, of course, but he'd been a key influence in some of the rules. Not all of them, thank you very much, but enough. He knew that some of them were ridiculous, there to combat the childishness of adults. And sometimes, in rare cases, they were a load of shit.

When it came to Hotch, a lot of them were a load of shit. The man was the straightest of the straight, so much so that he often sabotaged his own happiness. Dave had seen it from the beginning. Sure, he'd skipped out for a while, but when he'd come back, he'd had a front row seat for just what the BAU did to a person.

Admittedly, as somewhat of a veteran on divorces, Dave was specially equipped to understand what Hotch had gone through with Haley. He couldn't blame her, really. Being a BAU agent was difficult, let alone living with one and raising a family with one. He'd been terribly impressed with Haley. But at some point, Dave had known that it was less about love and more and more about gratitude. Hotch had felt guilty for what he was doing, for how much time he put into the job, for everything he missed and everything he was giving up. He'd loved Haley in the beginning, but it had mellowed, changed, as relationships were wont to do.

Then Haley had filed for divorce.

It had shocked Hotch, understandably so. He hadn't seen it coming. But Dave had, and Dave understood. He'd even confronted Hotch when he'd returned, but the man had been tight-lipped. It was too bad. No one knew what it was like, not in their unit. No one else had tried to balance a family, a spouse, so Dave had felt he was uniquely qualified.

But it hadn't been Dave that Hotch had turned to.

Of course, Dave knew that Emily Prentiss was a damn persistent woman. He hadn't been fooled in Indianapolis. She'd been the driving force behind dragging Morgan and JJ into his mess. She was extremely difficult to argue with as well. She had a way of getting to the heart of the matter, cutting everything else out that wasn't necessary and getting to the point. He admired her for that. He admired her even more for not giving Hotch an inch. Not through his divorce, and certainly not through the Foyet fiasco.

And afterwards? Well, afterwards she was there to pick up the pieces. She was there to fight Hotch's naturally isolationist tendencies. She was the one who had worked the hardest to drag Hotch out of his shell, to push him to spend time with Jack. She told him he would be coming out with the team and, once or twice, had even organized for someone to babysit Hotch Junior behind Hotch's back.

She looked out for him.

She loved him.

Emily loved easily. It was a surprise for someone who was as completely closed off as she was, but Emily loved easily and she loved completely. She was one of those people who loved in so many different ways. She loved Reid as a brother, and Garcia as a sister. She loved Morgan as the irritating brother-from-another-mother and JJ as the irreplaceable right hand woman. She even loved Dave.

Different from all of that, however, was the way Emily loved Hotch. There were plenty of things she would do for the team. Dave knew that. She would move heaven and earth for them. But she would move the sun and the moon and the stars for Hotch and Jack. She'd already done the impossible. She'd brought Hotch back from the brink, reminded him about living and about life.

So, if there was anyone who wanted to see a happy ending there, it was Dave.

It was why, when they reached one of those terrible lulls where they needed a solid tip or another murder, Dave all but dragged Hotch from the Twelfth. It wasn't an easy task. It was stupid really, because everyone else had stopped. Even Detective Beckett, who had seemed suitably chastised by a call from the NYPD's ME, had left with Emily and JJ to do whatever women did to bond.

And Dave had taken his chance.

They sat in a diner not far from the precinct. Remy's was a place that was quite obviously for the regulars. It was cozy and filled with cops. He and Hotch didn't really stand out. Even then, Dave bided his time. He waited until the two mugs of coffee were in front of them – not that Hotch needed the extra caffeine – before he jumped right in.

"You keep pushing her away she's not going to be there one day."

Hotch didn't even look up. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course not," Dave replied, unfazed. "But let's pretend you do."

Hotch arched an eyebrow.

Dave mirrored it.

Hotch was the first one to give in, not that it surprised Dave. "It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?"

Hotch offered him a glare.

"Uh huh." Dave couldn't stop himself from the smug grin that crept across his face. "I generally try not to interfere in the affairs of other agents-"

The pun was not lost on Hotch and The Glare intensified.

"But this is a special case. Because Emily is special and you're a wreck." Dave almost grinned at the flash in Hotch's eye. He wasn't about to pull punches. That was JJ's place, not his. "Haley was good for you. At the time. Now, things are different."

"Of course they are."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Yes, she's gone, but I'm not talking about her, I'm talking about you."

Despite the fact that Hotch's face had not changed, Dave knew he had the other man's attention.

"Haley was good for you because she knew how to make your day light. You couldn't wait to get out of the office. When I started back at the BAU, it was different."

Dave knew all the reasons now too. Gideon, Reid's addiction, Emily and Strauss… He was aware of all the stresses the team had endured to turn Hotch into such a workaholic.

"You were different." He shrugged. "People change. And Haley wasn't as good for you anymore."

"You think Emily is."

"I think if you haven't realized it by now there's not only no hope for you, but you're blind as a bat."

Hotch's shoulders slumped. Dave had more than hit the nail on the head and Dave hadn't done it softly.

"So let me outline the options for you," Dave went on, pushing his mug out of the way and leaning forward over the table. "You say screw the rules, screw what the Bureau thinks is right and do something about how much the two of you need each other, or let her go."

Dave waited a beat, then the entire expression on Hotch's face changed. Instead of stone-cold Agent Hotchner, Aaron shone through, with all the worry and the fear and the surprising vulnerability he showed so very rarely, and only once in Dave's recollection.

"She's too good for me."

"She is, but she doesn't care."

"I'll break her."

"Doubt it." Dave believed it too. If Emily hadn't broken by now, she wasn't about to. "Hotch. Take the damn risk. The good ones aren't around for long."

And Dave should know.

Hotch's jaw tightened. "I can't. Not now."

"Not during the case," Dave agreed, leaning back and cupping his mug again. New York wasn't freezing, but there was a chill sitting in his old bones. "Afterwards."

"Dave-"

"Afterwards, Hotch. She deserves that."

Their phones beeped simultaneously, Reid's text message blazing across their screens.

_Garcia's got something._

* * *

_There are a million ways apologies could be made. I'm making all of them now. We've both been fighting serious muse issues, but we've both agreed it's getting ridiculous. I'm not entirely sure what that means from either of us yet, but don't give up on us. We'll keep doing our best not to let this fall through the cracks. Even after 14 months :(_

_To those of you who read this, who are still following, we owe you all the cookies and chocolate or yummy things in the world. And all the adorable creatures too. The best we can do is thank you from the bottom of our hearts for sticking with us through this insanity. _

_I want to promise you that the next one will be faster, but it's not a promise I can necessarily keep. I mean, 14 months is a rough record to break, but it's tough to predict when the muse is going to let us write. Sorry :(_


	13. Falling Into Place

**Memoir**

**Chapter 12: Falling into Place**

Really, the end of the case was a story of perfect timing. That story went like this...

. . . . .

_Quantico VA - Lair of Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia_

"Come on, come on, come on... Survey says... Bingo!"

Without a care to her mixed game show metaphors, Penelope slammed her pen on the button that would connect her to to her most gorgeous chocolate God.

"Baby Girl tell me you've got something."

"Oh, Lover," she purred back, "have I ever."

On the other end of the line, Derek chuckled. "Lay it on me, Mama."

Penelope grinned smugly. "Six degrees of Kevin Bacon."

"Oh! I love that game!"

Penelope's smiled widened. She'd done a bit of Googling with her family away and upended the lives of each member of the NYPD team. For safety reasons, of course. Couldn't have the people who meant the most to her working with corrupt officers. Thus, it was easy for her to identify Richard Castle, even through Derek's terrible speakerphone.

"With the Heat movies, I'm at three."

"Something tells me she's not actually referring to Kevin Bacon," Detective Beckett said dryly.

"Point to the gorgeous detective," Penelope agreed gleefully. "In this case, it's all about who you know."

"Well, Spence is ready to draw us a picture, Garcia," JJ prompted. "Go for it."

"Okay. We already know Amanda Salinas was married to Marvin Casey. We know Nelson Hurley was their best man. Easy connections." Penelope hummed a little as she scrolled on through her notes. "And Bryce Moran did more than go to school with the rest of our victims."

"We knew all that, Hot Stuff," Derek interrupted. "It didn't help."

"That's because you're trying to connect Bacon to Daniel Radcliffe without going through the cast of _Harry Potter_."

She grinned when there was a beat of silence.

"But you have that connection, don't you Mama?"

Garcia grinned. "Oh, Chocolate Thunder, do I ever. It is none other than our well-adored teacher, Mrs. Annie Bryers."

The one victim that had seemed like such an outlier.

"Turns out Bryers was pretty influential in the hierarchy. I ran facial recognition on the pictures Jayje sent, did my aging magic and all that. All of our victims were part of a tiny little club in the bottom corner of the most obscure clubs page ever."

She slammed on a few buttons until the picture is front and centre on her screen. "The Thursday Lunch Club, and can we please take a moment to acknowledge the total lameness of that name?"

"Most definitely. There are a million better things like-"

"Castle."

Penelope smirked. "For all intents and purposes, it comes off as a mentorship program. But why on earth do honour roll students need a mentorship program, because trust me, there are plenty of student teetering on the edge of dropping out and if I can be judgmental, they have their fair share of young criminals."

"But it's not," she heard Esposito say.

"Favouritism," Emily agreed.

"Oh my lovelies, this goes beyond favouritism," Penelope said, documents flashing on her screen. "When Mervin Casey was caught red-handed toilet paperin the principal's office, guess who stepped in?"

"Annie Bryers."

"Point for the FBI's Italian Stallion," Penelope crowed, plowing on before Hotch could even inhale to scold her or Dave could get over his vague offense. "The same holds true for our straight-A Ms. Salinas when one of the English teachers accused her of plagiarism and when Mr. Hurley got in trouble with the law, Annie Bryers got him community service instead of prison."

"She picked them," Hotch said.

Penelope hummed her agreement.

"They were all targeted. Individually," Emily's voice floated over the line. "Garcia-"

"Was there anyone else in that graduating class that could be a target? Unfortunately, no, but I'd like to draw your attention to a young man who claimed to write a scathing multi-page spread in the school newspaper on this Thursday Lunch Club of ours."

Since she'd already e-mailed the file to the relevant parties, she leant back, twisting her pen between her fingers. "Sam Lowlands, and no, I'm not making that up. Graduated along with our younger victims. Thought of himself like Deepthroat."

"How does she _find_ this stuff?"

Penelope felt herself grin. She absolutely adored that phrase. "Turns out as part of an anniversary celebration for the beloved PS-196, they moved a lot of their old records to digital and let me tell you, I do not envy the man who had to do _that_ tedious job."

"Address?"

"Already on your phones, my lovelies, along with all the other info I've gathered on him."

"You're the best, Mama."

She preened. She couldn't help it. "And don't you forget it."

* * *

_New York City – Twelfth Precinct_

"Age, race and sex all match our profile," Agent Morgan said, flipping through the file.

"Had five jobs in the last year," Castle piped up. "Is that part of your profile?"

"He doesn't play well with others," Rossi agreed. "Problems with authority, probably sees favouritism everywhere."

Kate watched Rick's eyes light up and chewed on her lip. She knew, in many ways maybe, that Rick wasn't going anywhere. The way he stuck by her side, the way he'd fought tooth and nail to stay on the case, to stay by her side – it all spoke to how he felt. She knew that. Yet watching him with that keen look at his eyes, to have it directed at someone else, made her heart clench painfully.

There were plenty of stories he could write with a team like this. She knows he'd catalogued the way Prentiss and Hotchner interacted, built a whole character and background for the extremely flirty Agent Morgan and probably a hopeless tale of unrequited love for Agent Rossi. Multiple characters, multiple storylines – Kate wasn't stupid. Even as a muse, she couldn't compete with the possibility of a series like that.

"Detective?"

Kate blinked, finding an officer with his head through the conference room doors.

"There's a woman here, says she can't find her roommate, Amy Cooper."

Kate could feel the way her eyebrow rose. She was a homicide detective. That was a Missing Persons case.

"Detective Ryan brought her up, ma'am. I'm just supposed to pass on the information. Interrogation."

Rick stood, but she held out a hand. "Ryan and I have this."

In fact, the Irish detective was bouncing almost gleefully outside the door. "So, you know Espo and I jumped out for lunch since Agents Prentiss and Hotchner went to check out Lowlands' apartment."

Well, that had been the running story. Rossi had sent them. Kate bet the still-pale pallor of Ryan's skin had been the driving reason.

"That's Ellie Flynn." He pointed through the blinds. "Amy Cooper's roommate. Amy went missing yesterday night. Didn't come home."

"Ryan-"

"Not done," he interrupted. "Ms. Flynn informed me that Amy had been reconnecting with old friends now that she's moved back to New York."

Kate's heart leapt. "Like those from PS-196."

Ryan's eyes glowed. "My specifically-"

"Sam Lowlands."

Ryan hummed the affirmative. "Had a date last night."

She pushed through the door. "Ms. Flynn-"

"You have to find her. Amy. Amy doesn't go missing. She's terrified of the city. I mean, she did high school and college here but that's because when her parents split, her mom moved to New York and brought Amy with her –"

Kate reached out, gently grasping Ellie's hands. "Tell me about Sam Lowlands, Ellie."

"He's creepy," she said immediately. "I knew it the minute she started talking about him. Something was off about him." Her hands shook in Kate's. "I did the usual, you know?"

"You asked?"

"That too, but I'm in journalism. Magazines, so I looked at social media. His online dating profile, Facebook, Twitter, you know. Amy found him online, obviously. And she told me he was fine, because they went to school together, but he was _creepy_. And then-" She stopped. Sniffled. "And then she didn't come home."

"Do you know where they were going?"

"No," Ellie sniffled. "But I made her promise to keep her cellphone on her. I've been texting her for _hours_."

Kate barely took the time to reassure Ellie that they'd find Amy before sprinting back to the conference room.

"He's got his next victim."

The triumphant grin Rick gives her is almost better than the feeling of closing in on a murderer.

* * *

_New York City – Sam Lowlands' Apartment_

"There's no evidence that he targeted Amy Cooper like the others," Emily said into Hotch's phone, her eyes flitting around the room. It was a well-kept place, which had always bothered her, except for one wall. It was covered in pictures of their five victims, the news articles about their murders, even pictures of the crime scenes, long before the victims were found.

"We've combed through his apartment," Hotch agreed.

"He's definitely got her, Hotch," Derek replied. "The roommate ID-ed the UNSUB by name. It's too much of a coincidence."

"There's no evidence," Hotch repeated.

Emily sighed. This was the other part of cases she hated: the waiting and the moment where they were missing that final tiny piece. And she hated knowing that there as a victim out there, that all the circumstantial evidence added up to everything but the required evidence to actually pursue him. And they had no idea of where he'd gone.

"They've been talking for three months," Penelope piped up. They'd patched her in the moment they'd found a laptop in the designated office. "Your witness was right. They met on a dating website, but other than the fact that Amy Cooper went to the same school with our victims and our UNSUB, there isn't a single thread that connects them. Amy came into the school after the other left and there isn't a single shred of evidence that she ever crossed paths with any of our victims."

"So why her?" Detective Beckett asked. "She doesn't fit the victim profile."

"And if he's a mission killer like the profile says, isn't his mission accomplished?" Castle piped up.

"She fell into his lap," Hotch murmured.

Emily looked back to find his intense gaze fixed on her. Oh, she knew how this worked. They did this sometimes, when it was just them, like in the hotel lobby a couple of nights ago. But they definitely rarely stood so close together when they did it. "She sais something. Something innocuous. Something that acted like a trigger."

"He's killed every other victim in their homes."

Emily nodded, her mind already spinning ahead. "But she has a roommate. He couldn't risk the roommate interrupting."

"He didn't come back here."

"Where did he go?"

"Garcia," he spoke louder.

"Are there any other properties held in his name?" There was a pause. "No."

"What about his parents?"

"Bakers, both deceased," came the answering murmur. "But hold onto your hats, I have a house registered under a Barry Lowlands."

Emily's eyes locked onto Hotch's with a grin. "Address?"

* * *

_Hahahahaha! _

_I said November didn't I? And look! It's November! How bloody insane is that?_

_The next one is mostly written, just have to comb it over and the detail stuff, so hopefully it'll be up in the next couple of weeks. But we'll see! As it is we're down to about two chapters before this is complete. _

_It's been a ride. _

_Thanks to everyone who left a review. It is… There are no words, honestly. We started this on a bit of a whim and a good case and it's taken on a life of it's own, partly because of you, because of all you people that read it and love it. You are the best. _


	14. I See You

**Memoir**

**Chapter 13: I See You**

. . . . .

What was wrong with him?

Sam paced the main floor of his parents' place. He'd kept it, of course. It was the one place he'd always felt like everyone would respect him, where he was never a loser and his word was law.

His word was law.

He was the best.

He was the smartest, the fastest, the most important. His parents could see that. His family saw that. And he'd figured, when he ran into Mervin so many years after high school, that Mervin see it too. But Mervin had barely given him the time of day.

He was off to meet Amanda, or maybe it was Nelson. Sam couldn't remember. Sam didn't care.

What he cared about was the fact that they still ignored him. Amanda and Nelson hadn't even recognized him when he'd followed Mervin to the coffee shop. He wasn't even sure how the hell he'd managed to walk out of that store, but he had.

And found Mervin later.

It had felt phenomenal. He hadn't anticipated that part. The feeling of the knife sliding into skin, seeing the shock, feeling the thrill of power, hearing them beg him. He held their lives in his hands and they noticed him then.

Oh had they ever.

So he'd found Bryce, found Mrs. Bryers and had extended that intoxicating feeling of power. He'd expected the same with Amy. The thrill, the drive, but the thought of taking the knife upstairs and sliding it into her flesh, didn't seem to hold the same appeal. He didn't want to.

But… He needed it.

He'd been held down too long. He was going to rule. He was going to prove it to all of them, that he was the one on top. He would always be on top.

He grabbed the knife, his knuckles white. She was tied to his childhood bed, her face red. She hadn't once screamed. She'd cried and cried, silent tears, maybe the odd sniffle. When she saw the knife the tears fell again, but she didn't struggle. She didn't fight. Maybe it was the gag? It had muffled the sobs – he hadn't wanted to risk her biding her time and screaming to wake the neighbours – so maybe? He settled the knife on her stomach and reached with surprisingly gentle hands to undo the gag.

"Why are you doing this?"

Her first words, whispered. No begging, no screaming. No fighting.

"Because no one sees me," he growled. It wouldn't matter if he told her. It never mattered. None of them cared.

She hiccupped. "What do you mean?"

He didn't have to answer, but Amy didn't look like the others. She didn't immediately swear that she saw him, that she always saw him. There was no pity, nothing negative. Curiosity, fear, but none of the sobbing entitlement that had spilled from Mervin's mouth. Nor Amanda, or Nelson's.

"They don't see me. Nobody sees me." He pushed himself off the bed, paced to the door and back again. "Nobody sees how good I am, how smart I am."

"Sam, who are you talking about?"

"All of them!" he yelled. "Mervin and Amanda and Nelson-"

"They were murdered," Amy breathed. "Sam, did you kill them?"

"I had to! I didn't exist to them!"

Amy stayed quiet as he prowled the floor, like she understood he needed a moment. She sucked in a breath after a few moments. "I see you, Sam."

His eyes fly to hers.

"Of course I see you," she went on. "I- I picked you, didn't I? We met on a dating site and I'm not trying to make you angry, Sam, but there were others. I picked you."

He stepped closer. "There were others."

"Other matches. Other messages. But-" She tried to shrug. The ropes kept her in place. "I didn't-"

Sam settled on the bed, reaching for her. "You-"

Amy dropped her head back to the pillow. He'd been at least that generous. "There are a lot of creepy people on the internet. I-" Her eyes closed. "I've been there. I-I've been dating for a while. But you- You sent me sweet messages, said nice things. And you never pushed, you know? I never felt like a- Like a thing. I was always a person."

Everything he had never been.

"I picked you because I wanted to. Because I liked what little I knew. I wanted to know more." Tears come to her eyes again. "Not this. I didn't want to know this."

* * *

"Think she's alive?"

Hotch looked over to where Emily was adjusting the Velcro on her vest. He liked that image. She looked strong, resilient, gun at her hip. Ready to take on the world.

And win.

"Hotch?"

"I don't know, Prentiss," he answers.

Her mouth was pressed in a thin line, determination written all over her face. It's a look mirrored on JJ's face, when she steps up beside them, Rossi not far behind.

"What's the plan?"

Hotch darted his gaze to the NYPD detectives arching his eyebrows at the writer's vest.

"Place has a front and side entrance," Derek said as he jogged up. They're hiding around the corner, aware that they're either walking in on a crime scene or a live victim. They're taking a chance with their element of surprise.

"One team in the front, one in the rear. Two teams in," Hotch fixed his eyes on Castle. "You stay outside."

The writer didn't even make a sound, just nodded solemnly.

"If Lowlands is in there, he's armed and dangerous." He didn't have to say it. He did anyway. "Let's bring Amy home."

Because they all had to go in optimistic.

"Rossi, Reid, rear perimeter. Detectives, back entrance. JJ-"

"Detective Ryan, want to keep me company?"

Ryan flashed a grin. He even went as far to offer his elbow. "It would be my pleasure, Agent Jareau."

JJ met Detective Beckett's eyes. "We'll keep him safe."

The detective nodded, checked her safety and turned to Esposito.

"We're wasting time."

Rossi mirrored her movements. "Let's do this."

Finally, Hotch turned to Emily. "With me."

"Always," she said with a nod.

He wasn't reading into that. Damn Rossi and his mind games.

They lined up and Hotch counted them down. Then they were in. He felt Emily at his back, felt the moment they split to clear the kitchen. He hadn't really noticed it before, the way she just seemed attuned to him. She moved with him when he barely glanced back at her, her steps echoing his.

They met Detectives Beckett and Esposito at the bottom of the stairs. With a simultaneous shake of their heads, they all turned to the stairs. Hotch went first, because he always did. The hallway was dark, the only light sliding out from a door half way down the hall. They split again, clearing the hall before returning to the sliver of light.

What they found inside was not at all what any of them could have expected.

Amy was completely fine, her arms wrapped around the man beside her. She looked tearstained, but otherwise okay, looking at them with anguished eyes.

"Sam," Amy said quietly.

He looked up and Hotch adjusted his grip on his gun, even as he felt Emily holster hers.

"Amy, you're okay?" Emily asked, slipping around him. He barely blinked.

"Fine," Amy sniffled. "Sam-"

Hotch watched the man's hands clench tightly on Amy's hip. His grip adjusted on his gun.

"Sam, you promised," Amy said quietly, just for Sam.

Hotch shifted, widening his stance, feeling the NYPD do the same behind him.

Sam stood, still gripping Amy's hand. Hotch watched him swallow before he released Amy and held out his hands. Emily glanced back at him, confusion plain on her face. He didn't get it either. "Detective?"

Emily rushed to Amy's side as Beckett and Esposito secured Lowlands in handcuffs. She sniffled as she gripped Emily's sweater. Hotch holstered his gun.

"Wait," Amy sobbed, letting go of Emily's vest when everyone turned to her. She stepped forward, right up to Sam. Her hands rose to his face.

"I see you," she whispered. "I see you, Sam."

As Beckett and Esposito led Sam away, Amy turned to Emily and Hotch.

"It was all he wanted," she said to them. "He just – He just wanted someone to see him. Was that so hard?"

Hotch glanced to Emily, he couldn't help it. No, he thought. It wasn't so hard. To see and be seen.

And Dave had opened his eyes to both.

* * *

_Just the epilogue! And that's not written at all so… we all know what that means!_

_Thanks for all the reviews!_


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